


cemetry gates

by kickwiththefray



Category: The Smiths
Genre: Humor, I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M WRITING THIS IF ANYONE EVER FINDS OUT I'M LEAVING THE COUNTRY, M/M, Vampire AU, banter. lots of banter, it's set somewhere in the earlyish 80s, kill me, morrissey is a loner vampire, read this mess at your own peril I guess, somehow this fic got long and epic... my apologies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickwiththefray/pseuds/kickwiththefray
Summary: Morrissey is an awkward vampire who lives in the cemetery. Johnny bumps into him.





	1. Chapter 1

Morrissey woke up to a sound. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

He was disoriented, as usual when woken suddenly by something.

The noise felt like it was right up in his face, and indeed it was, because he realized it was coming from the lid of his coffin.

For a second he thought someone had found his hiding place and was now going to kill him, and he lied still waiting for the moment, but then he noticed the nature of the sound. It didn't sound like a person making it.

He pushed the lid open groggily, and a large drop of water fell right on his face.

He blinked. 

Another drop fell down, and he sat up and twisted a little, looking up at the source.

Somewhere in the ceiling of the mausoleum there was a hole directly above his coffin. He squinted, trying to locate the hole, but with little success. The ceiling was too murky that even with his enhanced vision he couldn't see any faults in the roof.

Was it raining outside? He listened for a while. It wasn't, but it must have been earlier, and now all the moisture gathered on the roof was seeping into his little dwelling.

He sighed and got up. He'd go out, climb to the roof and put a large rock on top of the hole and go back to bed for a little while. It was safe to go outside since the sun had already set hours ago - it was almost midnight probably - but he felt annoyed about his interrupted sleep and didn't feel like going anywhere. He had a bad habit of sleeping late.

He opened the heavy door of the mausoleum and slouched outside, going around the side of the stone dwelling.

The air was damp and cool from the rain earlier, and far off mist was gathering around the cemetery.

He wiped at his eyes absently and dragged a hand through his sleep-toussled hair.

He stopped as he realized something.

There was a boy near him. About ten feet away, in fact. Somehow in his sleepy state Morrissey hadn't even sensed his presence earlier. He was staring at Morrissey open-mouthed.

"Um," Morrissey said.

The boy - or man, Morrissey wasn't sure, he looked very young - was small and frail looking. He had a fringe of black hair which almost reached his kind looking brown eyes, and he was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a leather jacket over a turtleneck shirt. He was, for a lack of a better word, unbearably cute.

Morrissey took this in very fast, while the boy seemed to be taking him in. With a shock of embarrassment Morrissey realized he was in his striped pyjamas, and the boy was obviously staring at him in disbelief.

"Why are you in pyjamas... at the cemetery?" the boy asked. He had an unlit cigarette in his hand, which he raised now to his lips, but thought better of it and kept it in his hand instead.

"I'm afraid I don't have a sensible explanation for that," Morrissey said, frozen in place.

"Try me," the boy said, still staring. He blinked hard, as if testing to see if he was dreaming.

"No, really I don't," Morrissey replied. How do you tell someone you live in a mausoleum?

"Are you a goth? Or homeless?" the boy asked.

Morrissey thought for a while.

"Both, technically."

The boy laughed a little at the absurdity of the situation, and his eyes drifted to Morrissey's bare feet.

"How come you aren't dying of cold?" he asked, sounding worried.

"Oh," Morrissey said and wiggled his toes in the damp grass a little self-consciously. "Um, will you excuse me if I go get changed?"

"Sure," the boy said.

"Okay, stay there," he said with a pointed look at the boy. 

He didn't want him to follow him and run away screaming when he saw he slept in a coffin. And yet the boy didn't seem like the type to run away screaming. There was a weirdly cool calmness about him.

He went to his small drawer and dug out a shabby oversized jumper and trousers. And shoes, so he wouldn't look mad. Those were important.

When he returned, fully dressed now, the boy was still there to his relief. He was inspecting a nearby gravestone. He nodded at Morrissey when he saw him again.

"What's your name?" the boy asked, perhaps out of politeness or curiosity.

"Morrissey."

"Huh, odd name," he said.

"Well, I happen to quite like it," Morrissey said, a little offended.

"Nah, sorry, didn't mean like that. I like it too." He smiled. "I'm Johnny."

Morrissey smiled shyly back at him. 

The process of dressing up had finally woken him up properly, and he found himself questioning the boy's presence now. It was really dark out here.

"It's almost midnight, isn't it? The cemetery's been closed for hours by now, what are you doing here?" he asked the boy.

"Oh, um. I broke up with my girlfriend," he mumbled. "I used to come adventuring here a lot when I was a kid. Something to take the mind off things. I climbed over the fence."

Morrissey wasn't sure what to say, he wasn't used to people telling him personal things all of a sudden. 

"I never saw you here," he blurted out.

Johnny frowned.

"How long have you been living here? Do you actually _live_ here?"

Uh-oh, Morrissey thought. He couldn't come up with a good lie on the spot like that. He wasn't very good at lying anyway.

"Yeah, for a while now. Not sure how long," he replied vaguely.

Johnny shook his head, apparently not knowing what to say to that, and dug out a lighter from his jacket pocket. He lit his cigarette and put it to his mouth. Morrissey noticed that his lips were slightly funnily shaped, but not in a bad way, rather like he felt like having a closer look at them.

As he watched Johnny blowing out smoke he realized he'd never said anything sensible to Johnny's personal confession.

"Was it tough? The thing with your girlfriend," he asked.

"Well, yeah, kind of. What kind of break-up isn't at least a bit tough?" Johnny asked, raising his eyebrows. Then he looked down and absently kicked the pebbles at his feet about. "Nah, but I'm fine I think. It was a long time coming I guess, we just drifted apart, you know?"

"Ah yes... I know the feeling," Morrissey said awkwardly.

He didn't know the feeling at all. He'd never dated anyone; he'd been painfully shy as a youth, and then the courting etiquettes changed over the decades and now he had no idea how to approach people romantically even if he wanted to.

Johnny nodded, still looking at the pebbles. He took another drag.

"So is it okay if I hang around here for a while? Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

"No, no, it's okay!" Morrissey hastened to reply. The entire situation felt bizarre to him, but he was actually enjoying the company.

Johnny smiled a little and then looked up at him.

"Are you going to tell me the real reason why you were having a solo pyjama party here?"

Morrissey fiddled with the long sleeves of his jumper nervously, trying to think of a good answer.

"I mean you don't have to," Johnny added. "It's just that I'm dead curious now. You've got to admit it looked weird."

"Yes, I suppose you've never met anyone who lives in a cemetery," Morrissey said.

Johnny shook his head. "I sure haven't."

Morrissey sighed. He'd never really had to explain himself to mortals. He simply hadn't ended up in compromising situations before. When he went out to feed on mortals, he always left the scene quickly, leaving the victim too dazed and confused to realize what had actually happened. And if he just walked around town, he blended in. 

He reckoned he ought to stop wearing pyjamas when he lied down at sunrise and sleep in his casual wear instead like a sensible vampire, but the idea didn't appeal to him at all.

Johnny waited patiently for his answer, flicking the ashes from his cigarette and looking up at the sky, which was dark and cloudy. Morrissey saw him squint a little, maybe trying to see if any stars were visible.

"You can usually see stars really well from here," Morrissey said, making Johnny hum in acknowledgement. "It's quite dark in here because all the street lights are further away, so the sky always looks clearer. But it's been a cloudy evening today, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," Johnny said.

"I'm a vampire," Morrissey said suddenly, almost as an afterthought, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out what the thought had been that prompted him to blurt out his darkest secret. It just happened.

Johnny's eyes snapped away from the sky to look at Morrissey.

There was a long pause.

"I mean, that would make sense," Johnny simply said.

"Uh. Yeah," Morrissey said, not sure how to deal with the now even weirder situation they were in.

Johnny was merely eyeing him with suspicion.

"Are you really, though?" he asked.

"Yes?"

Johnny was looking him up and down. His gaze wasn't unkind, but he clearly wasn't buying it. He kept staring at Morrissey.

"I am!" he insisted. "And have been for years!"

He felt very ridiculous. Here he was, a monster of the old world, trying to convince some mortal boy that he was indeed a vampire.

"Well, prove it," Johnny said with a defiant tone, but he was smiling a little.

"What, do some sort of circus tricks for your entertainment simply because you don't believe my word?"

"Okay, sorry," Johnny held up his hands as a sign of peace. He'd finished with his cigarette and stamped it on the ground now. Morrissey noticed that while he was looking down he had a grin on his face, which he apparently meant to hide because when he looked up again his face was serious again. "Okay, tell me this: were you alive during the world wars?"

"Yes," Morrissey replied.

"Okay, tell me something about the wars that only a person who'd been there would know," he challenged.

Morrissey groaned. "I don't know, I was here at Manchester by the time the first one began, and I didn't go out much during either of them."

"What?" Johnny exclaimed incredulously, but he was laughing now. "What about the Manchester Blitz?"

"Didn't really concern me," Morrissey said, shrugging. "I read a lot of books in the basement of an abandoned house back then."

"Unbelievable," Johnny sniggered. "You must know a lot of things though."

"Maybe, to some degree," Morrissey assented. "But one can't always know about everything that's going on in the world, I mean do you?"

Johnny thought for a while, frowning. 

"Touché," he said. Then he smiled again. "Can I see your fangs, then?"

"Oh, alright," Morrissey said, resignedly.

Johnny stepped towards him tentatively, but Morrissey could see he was clearly excited. 

He merely stood there, waiting for Johnny to come nearer. He didn't hesitate for long, and soon they were face to face. He looked down at the slightly shorter boy.

Morrissey's mind scrambled to describe Johnny as something else than cute, but he couldn't help it. The word kept echoing and bouncing around in his head as he looked at Johnny and his sweet eyes. Except that he wasn't simply cute. There was something very charming about him too.

"Well?" Johnny said, shaking Morrissey out of his thoughts.

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, trying to bare his teeth as well as he could.

Johnny leaned up, peering into his mouth, and then let out a breathy gasp. 

"Well, you weren't lying," he said quietly, still looking at the fangs.

Morrissey made a noise of agreement with his mouth still open. He glanced at Johnny to see if he was scared, but to his amazement he merely looked curious.

"Can I touch one?" he asked.

This kid was unbelievable, Morrissey thought.

"Sure, be careful though," he said.

Johnny extended his index finger forward and carefully poked at Morrissey's left fang tooth.

"Huh," he only said, still touching the tooth.

Morrissey sincerely hoped he wouldn't start to drool from keeping his mouth open for so long, and he used all of his willpower to prevent it from happening.

But while Johnny was standing so close to him, Morrissey couldn't help but notice how good the boy smelled. He smelled like any mortal would, simply warm with life, but there was something else too, a personal smell that was different with each person and which you couldn't ever describe. 

That alone overwhelmed Morrissey, but then he became painfully aware of the fact that he hadn't fed for many days, and if Johnny smelled that good, that meant his blood would probably taste like nothing short of heaven.

Morrissey retreated from Johnny's touch quickly, afraid that he'd definitely start drooling now. Johnny fliched a little at his sudden movement, and dropped his hand to his side.

"Proof enough?" Morrissey asked, desperate to say something.

"Yeah," Johnny said, looking at him steadily.

Morrissey looked away and to his dismay found that he couldn't stop thinking about Johnny's blood now that he'd become aware of it. He knew it wouldn't be this bad if he'd fed more recently. But he just hadn't bothered to do it since he could survive without it for a while, and he hadn't expected to bump into anyone.

But he had to do it. He felt weak all of a sudden.

"Listen," he mumbled, still avoiding looking at Johnny. "It was nice meeting you, you're really unlike any other mortal I've encountered, but I've got to go."

"Why?" Johnny asked in a disappointed voice.

Morrissey decided it was best to just say it since Johnny already knew he was a vampire. "I'm thirsty."

Johnny nodded slowly. "Do you kill people when you drink from them?" he asked.

"No."

"Oh," Johnny said, apparently so relieved and pleased that he gave Morrissey a wide smile, his eyes crinkling adorably.

That's it, Morrissey thought. This was just too much.

He left right then and there and decided he'd drink from the very first person he saw in town, and as he skulked about he wondered if he'd ever see Johnny again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the girlfriend johnny broke up wasn't necessarily angie and it doesn't have anything to do with the plot but I just wanted him to have some sort of plausible reason to be there lmao
> 
> btw tell me if I got something important wrong idk


	2. Chapter 2

After feeding the previous night and then lying down in his coffin again Morrissey felt his head had been cleared somewhat, and he could finally think about the absolutely mad encounter he'd experienced.

Never before in his life had he told anyone what he is, but for some reason he didn't feel regret at his decision to spill his secret. Even though his conversation with the strangely calm boy had been brief, he felt like he had met a similar soul, someone who he actually wanted to talk to.

He assumed that after a night's sleep Johnny would have come to his senses and decided to avoid the cemetery forever, and if that was the case he wouldn't pursue him, but if he came back... well, he wouldn't really feel like opposing it.

And to his surprise when he rose after the sunset, dressed up and came out of the mausoleum, Johnny was idly walking around amongst the gravestones. He looked up when he heard Morrissey moving the heavy stone door and gave him a smile.

"You came back," Morrissey said. He couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Yeah," Johnny said, coming closer. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, but shouldn't you?" Morrissey asked.

Johnny had stopped and was leaning nonchalantly against a gravestone, about to sit on it, when he suddenly seemed to realize it would be disrespectful and straightened up, stepping away from the stone. He sat on the grass instead.

"I don't think -," Morrissey said, stopping to glance at the stone behind Johnny. "- 'Jane Redford' would be offended if you sat on her grave."

He then sat down himself, leaning his back on the corner of a different gravestone.

Johnny laughed a little, but didn't move from his position on the grass.

"How do you know if uh-," Johnny now looked at the stone Morrissey was leaning on. "Rupert - I've no idea how to pronounce that last name - wouldn't mind?"

Morrissey shrugged. "I've never yet been haunted by any offended ghosts."

"Careful, you'll jinx it," Johnny said with a grin.

Morrissey laughed, then fixed a stern gaze on Johnny. "Anyway, you didn't answer my question. Are you sure you want to fraternize with a vampire?"

"Yeah," Johnny nodded casually. "You're cool."

Morrissey frowned. "Did you specifically come to see me again because I'm a vampire?"

"No, you seem nice." Johnny noticed Morrissey's sceptical look. "For real. I like your personality."

Morrissey did his best not to blush. He was pleased; he'd always found it difficult to make friends, even back when he was a mortal, and he'd thought there was something repellent about him. But now somebody he himself found pleasing was paying him a compliment.

Though a tiny part of him was slightly disappointed, since apparently he wasn't a particularly cool vampire who dazzled people by being mysterious. But that was probably due to Johnny meeting him when he was wearing pyjamas instead of something cool, like a cape.

Still, he was glad.

"You don't know much about me though," he said, pushing his thoughts aside.

"Tell me something about you then, like what do you do when you're not sleeping or reading?" Johnny asked.

"Not much," Morrissey replied honestly. "But I like walking around and writing poetry."

Johnny looked interested. "Is your poetry any good?"

"Well, I like it. But Robert Frost deemed it rubbish when I showed it to him once."

Johnny laughed. "Wait, really?"

"Yes," Morrissey said, thinking back to 1913 when he'd met the poet.

"Well, screw him," Johnny said.

"I agree. I never really liked him myself either."

Johnny started laughing again which made Morrissey smile, and then laugh with him as well. Morrissey's laugh became slightly hysteric when he once again thought about their situation.

"I thought yesterday was weird, but I'm honestly baffled at the fact that you came back and you're so calm about all this," he confessed.

Johnny shrugged with a small smile. "I guess I'm too adventurous for any good self preservation instincts."

"Truly," Morrissey agreed. "I'm awful at that too but it's not because I'm adventurous, it's more to do with the lack of caring."

"It's a fine line," Johnny said in a bad attempt at a dramatic voice, which made them laugh again.

The sight of Johnny laughing did something weird to Morrissey's insides, and for a moment he thought be might be feeling ill for some reason. As he was thinking back to last night's feeding and trying to figure out if the blood had somehow been bad he also became aware of the fact that he really liked the way Johnny looked when he smiled. He quickly put two and two together.

Good news: he wasn't ill. Bad news: he'd already developed some sort of weakness for the boy.

"Anyway," Johnny broke the pause that had followed after they'd stopped laughing. "Do you like music?"

Morrissey pulled himself out of his thoughts.

"Um...," he started slowly. "Yeah, but-"

"What, you think the only good music was played by some bard in a 15th century tavern?" Johnny joked.

"Shut up, I'm not _that_ old," Morrissey said, smiling. "No, it's just that I don't really have the means to listen to a lot of music."

"How come?" Johnny asked.

"Well, I don't have a record player since I live in a mausoleum. I've got one of those casette players though, but... not a lot of casettes," Morrissey said, feeling awkward about the subject.

"You don't have money?" Johnny asked tentatively.

"I don't, but that's not really the problem," he replied while rubbing his neck.

"You can tell me," Johnny encouraged. "You don't like stealing, then?"

"Oh no, I'm not above a bit of thievery now and then, it's more to do with the fact that I can't...," Morrissey began. He thought for a while, trying to think how to not sound ridiculous while knowing he couldn't. "I assume you're aware of the myth about vampires not being able to come in places unless invited?"

Johnny nodded slowly. "Wait, that's true?"

"Embarrassingly, yes," Morrissey sighed. "You'll never know how mortifying it is to stand outside shops, hoping the shop's owner sees you and invites you in."

"Has it ever worked?"

"Once, at a bookshop that I still go to. The nice owner thought I was shy and came to the door to say I could come in. But other people understandably think I'm being creepy," he said, sighing again. "So I rarely try it because it's unbearably awkward, just standing there and staring through the shop window."

Johnny laughed before he could stop himself, then made his face serious again. "Sorry," he said.

"No, it's alright, I know it's ridiculous," Morrissey said, smiling as well. It felt great to be able to complain about the irritating aspects of being a vampire.

"You can't even get in with automatic sliding doors?" Johnny asked.

"No," Morrissey shook his head. "It's like they stop working when I stand there."

"That's so sad," Johnny said. He still looked amused, but Morrissey could tell he was sympathetic too. "So you always have to be invited in by someone who's in charge of the place?" he asked.

"Yes, but I've never really figured out how it works exactly because I can't enter malls either, even though they're sort of a public place," Morrissey shrugged. "When vampires came into existence I don't think anyone foresaw the coming of shopping malls."

They both laughed at that, and Morrissey tried not to stare at Johnny again.

"But anyway," he continued, "that's why I live here. The place of the dead is welcome for all, and I don't have to pay rent."

"Oh, that's beautiful," Johnny said. "I hate paying rent."

"You don't live with your parents?" Morrissey asked, interested. He often forgot that young people these days moved out very early in their lives. "Or do you pay them rent?"

"No, no, I've got my own little place. It's not much but I felt like it was time to be out of my parents' way," Johnny replied.

"Hm," Morrissey nodded. "How old are you then?"

"Nineteen," Johnny said, and a slightly mischievous spark appeared in his eye. He raised his chin and nodded at Morrissey. "You?"

"Oh," Morrissey said bashfully. "Older than you."

"Yeah, I thought you might be vague about that," Johnny grinned. "It's okay though."

Morrissey smiled gratefully. His age and background felt very personal to him, and even though he already trusted Johnny more than anyone else he'd met in decades, he didn't feel quite ready to talk about it.

"But, um, about music," he turned the subject around, "I do have a habit of listening outside concert venues, or perusing yard sales in hopes of casettes, or just rather creepily hiding behind windows and listening to the records people inside put on."

"Understandable," Johnny nodded. "Haven't you ever owned a radio?"

"I have, a couple, until I ran out of batteries, but I've also recently lost interest in them because I don't like what they're playing these days," he said, aware of the fact that he might sound like a snob, but he hoped Johnny didn't mind. "The fifties and sixties on the other hand, those were interesting."

"Oh yeah?" Johnny said with an almost smug smile. "I knew I liked you for a reason. You should come hang out at my place some time, I have a ton of records and I can invite you in."

 

 

* * *

 

Morrissey discovered he found it easy to talk about anything and everything with Johnny. Morrissey wasn't completely out of the loop with pop culture as he did observe and listen to things around town, and to discuss those things meant more to him that he'd thought it ever would. They found they both had lots of opinions about seemingly irrelevant things, and whether their opinions matched or clashed, it didn't matter because they enjoyed the conversations all the same.

He also found it hard not to smile or laugh constantly in Johnny's company. It almost felt to him as if he'd forgotten how his facial muscles had worked, and now he remembered with full vigor. Not that he'd never laughed by himself at various little things, but it came more naturally to him now.

They were so at ease with each other already that during that second night neither of them even noticed the passing of time, until Johnny started shivering from the cold. It was only September, but the nights were getting chilly, and they'd been sitting on the grass the entire time.

Johnny had excused himself and headed home, promising to be back.

And true to his word he did, again and again. They'd sit and chat about whatever they had on their minds. During their talks Morrissey had learned that Johnny was a bit of a busy bee; he had a job and a social life and he was always going somewhere. The fact that he still made time to see Morrissey often truly warmed his heart.

 

* * *

 

One night Morrissey rose from his sleep to find an excited Johnny already waiting for him next to the mausoleum. Usually he found him sitting down or casually leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette (or a joint), but now he clearly had some sort of plans.

"Evening," Johnny smiled. "Sleep well?"

"Like the dead," Morrissey replied dryly, earning an amused snort from Johnny. The first minutes of waking up sometimes felt like what he imagined waking up from a coma felt like, and while he was standing there rubbing his eyes in a haze Johnny was already walking somewhere. "Are we going somewhere?"

"I thought I could finally show you my place, like I promised. Invite you in and all," Johnny said, turning to look at Morrissey and continuing to walk, now backwards.

"Oh," Morrissey said. He was feeling more awake now, and he caught up to Johnny with a slight spring in his step. "I'd like that."

They walked out of the cemetery together, and Johnny lead the way. Morrissey was slightly nervous, as he felt like this was a big occasion, but the walk to Johnny's place was calming. The streets were almost completely deserted and the air was cool. The time passed in a comfortable silence, sometimes broken by occasional chit-chat.

"By the way," Johnny said as they came upon a street with a row of detached three-storey houses, "don't get your expectations too high, I'm a lodger so I've only got one room."

"I'm sure I'll find it more exciting than the dingy tomb I sleep in," Morrissey said, eyeing the houses with interest.

They stopped at a house that had all of its lights out. Johnny gestured to it.

"The family who owns the house is really cool, I got really lucky with this place. They're away for the weekend though," he said and dug around his pockets for his keys.

Johnny got in, flicked the hall light on and pulled the door open wide.

"Alright, come in," he said with an over-the-top bow and stepped in further to give Morrissey space.

Morrissey took a deep breath, walked on the porch and took a slow step in.

Except the step didn't end up going all the way inside the house, as he felt the almost forgotten but unmistakable sensation of walking into an invisible wall. His entire body recoiled, and he almost lost his balance. He gripped the wall next to the door.

They looked at each other.

"What the fuck?" Johnny asked, eyes wide. "It didn't work?"

Morrissey thought for a while, trying to make sense of the stupid unwritten vampire rules.

"Did I say it wrong?" Johnny wondered. He cleared his throat and apparently tried to go for some sort of posh tone. "You may come in. Please, do come in."

He then grabbed Morrissey's wrist and tried to pull him through the doorway, but it was like the hand was stuck in air.

"Oh, I get it now. It's probably because you're a lodger, so you're not responsible for the entire house," Morrissey sighed.

"Ahh," Johnny nodded.

They stood there, trying to think of what to do.

"Hey, maybe I can invite you in through my room's window?" Johnny suggested. "You'd have to climb up the wall to the third floor though."

Morrissey shrugged. "It's not going to be dignified, but let's do it."

They walked around the back of the house, and Johnny pointed his finger at the correct window, then left Morrissy to wait while he went in, walked upstairs and opened the window.

Morrissey looked around in case there were any neighbours nearby, but he didn't see anybody. He scaled the wall in a couple of swift leaps, and was gripping the window ledge in no time.

"Wow, that was pretty impressive. Okay, come in then," Johnny said, backing up in the room.

Morrissey scrambled through the window way less impressively than he had jumped up to the window, and he was luckily able to get in.

They both let out celebratory whoops of joy, and Johnny went to turn on the light in the room.

Morrissey started surveying his surroundings as soon as he got to his feet. He could see a bed, a chair, a big wardrobe, and most importantly of all: records. There was a shelf full of them, but there were piles of them on the floors as well. He also spotted a guitar, which Johnny had told him about. All around the room he could smell that unique and pleasing scent that belonged to Johnny, lingering around the air and objects.

Luckily the smell didn't distract him if he remembered to feed, and he silently thanked himself for remembering to do so just last night.

He looked at everything he could, delighted to be there. The last time he'd been in somebody's home was back when he was mortal, so every detail interested him.

Johnny was regarding him with an amused look.

"Do you want me to put a record on?" he asked.

"Yes, please," Morrissey said quickly, remembering the records again, and feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of hearing lots of new music.

Johnny showed him a pile of records, explaining which ones were old favourites of his and which ones he was currently into. Morrissey couldn't decide, so he chose the one with the most interesting cover art.

"That one," he pointed at the LP that had a picture of a woman and a panther on it, and text that said 'Roxy Music'.

Johnny put it on and gestured for Morrissey to sit anywhere he liked. Johnny sat on the floor himself, leaning against the wall near the bed. Morrissey sat on the bed and was instantly sweeped in the amazing music that blasted out. He sat in a trance-like state during the first two songs, and broke into a smile when they ended.

Johnny was looking at his reaction and grinned back at him.

"Do you want to listen to the entire album or switch between bands?" Johnny asked, hovering near the record player.

"Entire album, please. But I also want to listen to as many records as we can."

"What time do you have to be back in your coffin?" Johnny asked, trying to find his alarm clock.

"I usually go there by four in the morning just to be safe," Morrissey replied. Johnny had located his clock and fished it out from under the bed.

"Okay, it's about nine now so...," Johnny paused to count. "We've got almost seven hours. We have time to listen to a bunch."

"Wait, you're sure I can be here so late?" Morrissey asked. Johnny had said the family who owned the house were away, but they'd never hung out until dawn and Morrissey wasn't sure if it was okay for Johnny. What if he wanted to sleep?

"Of course," Johnny said while setting an alarm before four just in case they forgot. "I pretty much always stay up late anyway."

The evening then proceeded in a way that Morrissey was pretty sure could be summed up as 'sleepover', with the exception that they didn't actually sleep. They lounged around listening to as many records as they could, and sometimes Johnny would strum along with his guitar. Morrissey thought it was brilliant. At one point Johnny opened a bag of crisps and since Morrissey couldn't eat them, Johnny described their taste for him as if he was at a fancy wine tasting.

Morrissey also discovered that Johnny's bed had springs on them, and he bounced on it enthusiastically. He was actually kind of fond of his mausoleum because it appealed to his gloomy romantic soul sometimes, but to be in a real apartment was truly something else.

Johnny laughed at him, rolling his eyes and muttering something about how absurd it was, to be friends with a vampire who was now bouncing on his bed like a child.

The word 'friends' didn't go unnoticed by Morrissey. He kept thinking about it when he eventually had to leave, and he smiled during the entire journey back to the graveyard.


	3. Chapter 3

"Those are geraniums, they're pretty common," Morrissey said, pointing to a cluster of flowers on a nearby grave.

"And what are those?" Johnny asked, politely interested, pointing at a different flower.

"Poppies."

They were on a leisurely walk at the cemetery, slowly drifting around and looking at the graves. It was a calm, clear evening and the moonlight shone brightly, making it easier to see things. During the past couple of weeks they'd been shut up in Johnny's room listening to records, and they both enjoyed having some fresh air for a change.

Johnny snapped his finger and pointed at another flower in recognition. "That's a lily, isn't it?"

"Yes," Morrissey nodded in approval. "Very common in funerals."

"Have you got a favourite one?" Johnny asked.

Morrissey craned his head and looked around. "Let's see if I can find any so I can show you..."

He drifted off in search of the flower.

"There!" he gestured for Johnny to follow and see. "Gladioli," he announced.

"Pretty," Johnny said. "Though I thought you might go for something more dramatic, like a rose or something."

Morrissey huffed. "Then you hardly know me at all," he said, but he kept his tone light so Johnny would know he's joking.

Johnny laughed and they walked along, but Morrissey kept thinking about how Johnny actually didn't know some of the important things about him because he just hadn't told him yet. But he realized he wanted to tell him. By now he counted on the fact that Johnny was actually sticking around and being his friend, and he wanted to repay that loyalty.

"You okay?" Johnny asked, noticing Morrissey's had fallen silent and started frowning in his deep thoughts.

"I want to show you something," Morrissey said, deciding on the matter.

"More gladioli?" Johnny was confused.

"No, something else."

He started leading the way, walking a bit faster from being nervous. He could tell Johnny was curious, but he followed him silently without any questions. They walked further from the central part of the cemetery that they'd hanged out in.

The cemetery had been extended over the decades without moving any of the graves, and so it was unofficially divided into different parts, separated by hedges or rising terrain. Sometimes it wasn't separated by anything, but you could tell some places were older by their graves. To Morrissey it resembled some sort of a patchwork quilt.

Morrissey lead them to a part where all the gravestones nearby looked shabbier and faded with age. The area was surrounded by bushes, and though someone who worked for the cemetery had been by to clip the grass the graves themselves were unattended. Wild flowers and weeds grew among some of them, but no one had actually left any flowers. Why would they have? Who cares for a relative who lived a hundred years ago?

"Here," Morrissey said, stopping in front of a gravestone that didn't really stand out from the others by appearance.

Johnny walked up to him and gave him a questioning look. Morrissey just gestured for Johnny to step closer to the grave while he himself took a step back, letting Johnny to look at the stone properly.

He saw Johnny squint, then crouch down and get closer to the engraved text. Morrissey was just about to ask if Johnny needed a candle or something, considering it must have been difficult to read the faded writing, but then Johnny read the words aloud slowly:

 

IN MEMORY OF  
STEVEN PATRICK MORRISSEY  
BORN 22ND MAY 1851  
DIED 15TH AUGUST 1874

 

Johnny let out a silent gasp.

"Oh," he said, and traced the writing carefully with his finger. "So... you were 23... How did it happen?"

Morrissey appreciated the fact that Johnny mentioned his mortal age instead of the ghastly amount of years he'd lived as a vampire. Though he was pretty sure that Johnny was mentally calculating those years as well.

He sighed, thinking back to that fateful evening when he'd become what he was.

"Well, it happened by chance. From my point of view, at least... There was this vampire who had some sort of fanatic view of having a higher purpose to turn 'chosen' people into vampires. By chosen he meant people who seemed not to fit in or belong to mortal life and society."

He paused to point at himself with both fingers, smiling ruefully.

"I was sitting alone in a deserted park, being sad, when he appeared and started talking to me about his views. Apparently he'd watched me for a while because he could tell I wasn't very keen on my life. He told me what he was, but I didn't believe him. I thought he was drunk and wanted to mug and murder me, and I accepted my fate. But he thought my lack of resistance was an open invitation for him to turn me, and before I knew what was happening, he was turning me."

Johnny's eyes were slightly wide, but he didn't say anything.

"Obviously, I started believing him once I saw what was happening to me. Not the part about a higher purpose, but the fact that I was now a vampire. I thought I'd be more shocked than I was, but it was oddly easy to accept. I knew I wouldn't miss my mortal life."

"Why?" Johnny asked carefully.

"Because there was _nothing_. You've probably noticed how violent it can be here, gangs beating people up for fun?"

Johnny nodded.

"Well, Manchester back then was even more violent. At least now there are more activities, but there really wasn't anything else to do in those times, especially if you were poor. I was always afraid of the gangs, but I felt compassion for them because they were just filling the void that I didn't know how to fill. I wrote a little back then already but I knew it couldn't really lead anywhere, and I knew my future would consist of working at the same factory my family was working at."

Johnny nodded, seeming to understand Morrissey's past problem. "I hear you, that sounds grim. What was your family like then?"

"Well, I had parents who cared about me, but who didn't much care for each other... divorces weren't really a common thing at all so they trudged on with each other. And then I had a sister. Jackie."

Morrissey stopped for a while to think about her. This wasn't the first time he'd thought about her during the years of being a vampire, but saying her name out loud made him miss her more than ever.

He went on.

"My parents moved here a bit before Jackie and me were born. From Ireland, like your family. Back then there was the great famine in Ireland which meant a lot of people were dying. But famine wasn't the only reason people died, according to the village stories. There seemed to have been a lot of vampires around back then and they were using the famine as a cover to kill people.

In the cities, like here, people wouldn't buy that sort of story, but in the countryside things were different. Well, people didn't talk about it openly but a lot of people were paranoid about it and being very religious saw it as a sign of the devil or something. It affected my parents, because they grew up while that was happening. They didn't actively talk about it or anything, apart from the occasional stories they told me and Jackie, and we treated them as normal yet gloomy bed time stories."

He swallowed.

"That night, after the vampire who had turned me briefed me about a couple of aspects about being a vampire and then promptly took off to God knows where, I headed home because I hadn't really planned what to do. But I forgot I was covered in my own blood and my maker's blood as well, and when I turned up on our doorstep and got stuck at the door because I couldn't get in, I could see the subtle doubt and recognition in my parents' eyes. I probably looked like a wreck, being thirsty and pale and everything. And I probably matched all the descriptions from their folk tales.

They looked worried about me but I could tell they were scared too, and I couldn't take it. I have no idea what I even expected, going back home after what happened to me. It was stupid. I regretted it instantly, so I left without a word.

I wrote them a vague note that I left by their door the next night, telling them I was sorry and that I was fatally ill, and that I wouldn't survive. That I was as good as dead.

I left Manchester after that, deciding to put it all in the past. I traveled around writing poetry and discovering all the aspects of my new nature, but eventually a couple of years before the first World War I got curious and homesick, so I came back. I found this grave. I don't know what they buried in it, but they'd put the day of death as the day I became a vampire."

"Did you...," Johnny hesitated, sounding a bit hoarse. "Did you try to find your parents and your sister?"

"Yes. But they weren't here. Our old house had a different family living in it, and during all these years I've never seen their names anywhere in this cemetery. They must have moved somewhere else after I... 'died'."

Curse you, tear ducts, for still working despite being immortal, Morrissey thought as a pool of tears started to gather in his eyes.

"I've never found out where they went. I don't miss my mortal life at all but... sometimes I really miss them. I miss Jackie," he said, trying to subtly wipe his eyes with his sleeves.

"Oh, Moz," Johnny said, coming closer. "I'm so sorry."

He enveloped Morrissey in a gentle hug, stroking his back slowly.

Johnny was short, but tall enough for Morrissey to lay his head on his shoulder, which comforted him immensely. He sniffled. Johnny felt warm, and he never wanted to let go.

"I hope your leather jacket is tear-proof," Morrissey joked weakly.

Johnny let out a muffled little laugh. "Don't worry, it is."

They stayed like that for a while, until Morrissey felt better and disentangled himself from Johnny. He was worried he might make Johnny uncomfortable by clinging on him all night.

He felt strangely light, like someone had lifted a weight off him. Talking about his family had brought back sad memories, but it felt better to have been able to let it out. Maybe he could finally put his past behind. It still bothered him that he had no clue where his family was buried, but at least his emotions weren't bottled up inside him anymore.

"Hey Moz?" Johnny said when they were walking around again in companionable silence. "Thanks for telling me all that."

He squeezed Morrissey's hand briefly for emphasis and gave him a smile.

Morrissey blushed.

First the tear ducts, and now his blood circulation. Why did his body have to be against him like this?

 

* * *

 

A couple of days later Morrissey was walking idly around the cemetery by himself. Johnny was out of town for two weeks to visit his relatives who lived far away.

He walked past the old part of the cemetery, when something yellow caught his eye in the direction of his grave. He went to inspect it closer.

There was a massive bouquet of gladioli lying on his grave. There was a note attached to it.

 

_"You're right. These are infinitely better than roses. See you in two weeks._

_xx_  
_Johnny"_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this chapter reminded me of that tumblr post that goes "I’m sorry, you must be at least a level 4 friend to unlock my tragic backstory"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooops this is long again. well, I hope you guys like it!

They were sitting on Johnny's bed. Johnny was playing some tune on his guitar that he'd come up with while he had been away and Morrissey was leafing through Johnny's books.

"What do vampires do during Halloween?" Johnny asked suddenly.

Morrissey didn't lift his head from the books. "Laugh at all the vampire costumes."

"No, really. You got plans for tomorrow? Or do vampires have like a code against going out during Halloween?"

Morrissey laughed. "Where did you come up with that one? No, we don't. Why?"

"It's my birthday tomorrow, is all. So we could hang out," Johnny said, fiddling with the guitar.

Morrissey looked up from the books at last. "Your birthday is on Halloween? You're almost more goth than me."

Johnny rolled his eyes.

"No, I don't have plans," Morrissey said. "Do I need to get you something? I haven't done birthdays in a while."

"No, I don't need a gift. I was just wondering... I want to try something. But you're going to say no," Johnny said, shrugged and resumed playing the tune on the guitar.

Morrissey stared at him expectantly. "I can't say no if I don't know what it is."

"Okay, well. Since your 'victims' don't die when you drink from them... I uh. I'm curious to know what it's like," Johnny said, not looking at him.

Morrissey stared at him dumbfounded. "You can't possibly mean you want me to drink from you?"

"Why not?" Johnny said somewhat meekly yet defensively at the same time.

"Because," Morrissey struggled for words. "Because no?"

Johnny pointed at him. "Ha. Knew you'd refuse."

"Why would you possibly want a loss of blood for your birthday?!" Morrissey asked incredulously.

Johnny smiled down at his guitar. "Okay, it sounds freaky when you put it like that. But I want to know what it's like, and because it's going to be my birthday you should be nice to me and my wishes."

Morrissey snorted unflatteringly. "That's ridiculous."

"I mean you totally don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable. Just don't get all high and mighty on my behalf," Johnny said, directing his gaze at Morrissey.

Damn it, Morrissey thought. He found it hard to resist Johnny when he looked at him with those warm brown eyes.

And it was not like he hadn't been secretly wondering what his blood would taste like. He'd gotten used to being around Johnny without thinking about blood constantly, but sometimes the thought crossed his mind. He would never have asked him though because that would have been really impolite and frankly, extremely creepy.

But if Johnny was asking for it himself?

"Are you sure though?" Morrissey asked. "It might hurt. I mean, the vampire who made me told me that if you manage to get someone willing to feed from, it doesn't hurt them. But I've never done that so I don't know for sure."

"All the more reason for you to try," Johnny said with a grin. Then, when he noticed Morrissey's serious face, he added: "I won't mind. If it hurts like a lot, I can just tell you to stop."

Morrissey sighed and rubbed his face. Then he went to the window and opened it.

"Hey, are you leaving?" Johnny asked, sounding disappointed. "Look, we don't have to-"

Morrissey interrupted him with a raised hand and a roll of his eyes. "I'm going out to feed a little now, so I won't accidentally drain you dry."

He thought he heard a faint 'yesss' behind him as he jumped out of the window.

 

* * *

 

 

The next night Johnny was there at the cemetery when Morrissey rose from his sleep. He was stumping out a cigarette when Morrissey joined him.

"Happy birthday," Morrissey said, smiling. He wasn't sure if he should go in for a hug or not, and ended up patting Johnny on the back rather awkwardly. He felt a little self conscious about the fact that he was going to sink his teeth into the birthday boy soon.

"Thanks man," Johnny said with a grin.

They looked at each other for a while, both feeling nervous.

"So... are you still on board with this thing?" Johnny asked.

"If you are," Morrissey said, to which Johnny nodded enthusiastically. "Weirdo," Morrissey added under his breath.

Johnny laughed. "Should we like, sit down or something?"

Morrissey nodded, thinking it was best in case Johnny started feeling faint, and they went in search of a bench. Johnny talked a bit about his day while they walked, and Morrissey's nerves were somewhat soothed by hearing him talk. It's not a big deal, he told himself. It's the same thing he's done for a century, except he's drinking from his best friend, who wants him to do it. At least now he doesn't have to worry about things he usually worried about, like making sure the victim doesn't yell or see his face when he leaves the scene.

They found a bench and sat down together.

"Right," Morrissey said. "Wrist or neck?"

Johnny look confused for a second until he caught on. "Which is better?"

"For me it's neck because the blood is usually a bit warmer there. But I don't know which would be better for you," Morrissey said.

It occurred to him that if he drinks from Johnny's neck, he'll be really close to him. Which is obvious, but somehow he hadn't fully realized that. He wasn't sure if Johnny was okay with that, but if he brought it up, would it be even more weird?

His overthinking train of thought was interrupted by Johnny's answer.

"Neck. It's traditional after all," Johnny said with a small laugh.

"Should I fetch my cape as well?" Morrissey asked sarcastically.

"Yeah, like you have one," Johnny replied dryly. "Do you?"

"No."

They both laughed.

"Sorry if it looks like I'm arranging some sort of gothic horror fiction scene," Johnny said with a sincere look in his eyes. "I thought I'd ask because it's my birthday, but now I realize how cheesy it looks with it being Halloween and all."

"I don't mind," Morrissey said with a wave of his hand. "At least it's not full moon. That could have been over the top."

Jokes aside Morrissey knew Johnny didn't mean to make actual fun of him, or use him for superficial and selfish reasons. Johnny knew a lot of people, and he seemed to genuinely respect all of his acquaintances and friends and not take advantage of them. Morrissey had seen enough of humanity to know that was rare.

Once again he thanked his lucky stars that this incredibly nice person had befriended _him_ , the sad lump of a person whose clothes probably smelled like dust and dank cellars.

"Okay, so," Johnny said and looked down at his own neck. He was wearing a button-up shirt and the collar of it came quite high, so he unbuttoned a couple of buttons, spread out the collar a bit and gestured to his neck.

Morrissey scooted a bit closer to Johnny on the bench and turned slightly left so his upper body was facing him. He was very conscious of their knees bumping together. He usually did this standing up, approaching his victims in alleys, so he now had to figure out how to manoeuvre himself.

He turned his head this way and that, trying to figure out a good angle.

"Okay, can you turn just a little?" Morrissey asked.

Johnny did as he asked, and suddenly there his neck was, perfectly in Morrissey's face. He breathed in a little sharply when Johnny's scent wafted out so close to him. He smelled faintly like cigarettes, and it mixed in delightfully with that natural, warm, maddeningly good scent of his.

Morrissey's left hand was in his own lap, not knowing what to do with it, but he carefully placed his right hand along Johnny's jaw so that he could hold him still in case he flinched. Once a man Morrisey had fed from on the streets had flinched so hard Morrissey had almost ripped his artery apart. He definitely didn't want that to happen.

He leaned in close to Johnny's neck.

"Remember to tell me to stop if it hurts," he murmured.

Johnny gave a small shiver and a quick nod of his head.

As he sank his teeth in, he reminded himself not to drink too much of Johnny's blood considering he was so tiny. Besides he wouldn't even need a lot of blood since he had fed the previous day.

But hanging on to any thought felt impossible the moment Johnny's blood flooded his tongue.

The taste was even better than he had imagined. The warmth and richness of it made Morrissey want to weep. He involuntarily shifted even closer to Johnny and his neck, and breathed in deeply as he slowly sucked his blood. It felt wonderful to be able to breathe in his scent and not restrain himself from thinking about blood.

He could feel and hear Johnny's pulse, and for some reason his own pulse quickened and his head felt empty. Drinking blood had obviously always been pleasant, but it had never made him feel such a plethora of feelings as it did now.

It confused him greatly, but his tangled thoughts felt insubstantial and for the moment he forgot about everything except the taste.

After a short while, when the initial rush of pleasure had passed he became aware of Johnny's hand gripping his hair. He wasn't sure when it had ended up there, and it made him realize he hadn't been paying enough attention to how much he was drinking. He made himself withdraw from Johnny's neck.

He carefully disentangled Johnny's fingers from his hair and turned to look at him. Johnny's eyes had been closed, but now he opened them and looked back at Morrissey with a dazed expression. His mouth was slightly open and his cheeks looked flushed, and Morrissey couldn't help but think that none of the people he had fed from had ever looked as captivating as Johnny did.

Suddenly, with a jolt in his stomach Morrissey realized how close to each other they still were. He moved so that there was a gap between them on the bench and looked away at the cemetery for a short moment, trying to come back down to earth.

He could still taste the trace of his blood on his lips, and he licked at them quickly so it wouldn't remain there driving him crazy. Then he turned his eyes back to Johnny, who was still looking at him.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Morrissey asked, now aware of the entire situation and feeling embarrassed at how he'd almost lost control of himself.

"N-no," Johnny said, his voice sounding a bit raspy. He cleared his throat. "No, it felt kinda great actually."

"Really?" Morrissey asked with his eyebrows raised. "I don't want you to lie to me."

"I'm not," Johnny assured. He did look sincere, even though there was still a dazed look about him. "Seriously, it was okay. Maybe it was that consent thing you mentioned yesterday."

"Hmm, maybe," Morrissey said. The idea of having your blood sucked didn't sound like something that could feel nice to Morrissey, but then again the only experience he'd had of it was when he was turned all those years ago, and he hadn't exactly agreed to it.

He noticed Johnny touching his own neck carefully, feeling for the puncture wounds and gasping a little at the soreness.

"Oh right, I'm sorry," Morrissey said, having momentarily forgotten to do anything about it.

He quickly put his own finger in his mouth and bit down on it so that it started bleeding a little. He then moved Johnny's hand aside so he could touch his neck.

"What are you doing?" Johnny asked, looking quizically at Morrissey's bleeding finger.

"Healing the wounds with my blood," he explained as he gently touched the two gaping little holes in his neck.

The holes sealed themselves and promptly disappeared from sight, like nothing had ever happened. He showed his finger to Johnny, who watched the little cut in it disappear as well.

"Whoa," Johnny said and felt for his neck again, which was now smooth. "Cool."

"It's pretty useful, yes," Morrissey said.

He noticed that Johnny still looked slightly absent, and now that the flush that had decorated his cheeks earlier had faded, he also saw how pale he looked. A dread settled in Morrissey's stomach.

"Are you alright?" Morrissey asked worriedly. "I didn't drink too much, did I?"

"No, I'm fine," Johnny said, and stood up for emphasis.

Morrissey looked up at him as he took a couple of steps away from the bench. He turned and looked back at Morrissey with a look that said 'see?' but suddenly he went even whiter and swayed dangerously. Morrissey jumped up and went to him just as he was about to fall.

"Okay, maybe I feel a bit dizzy," he admitted as he clung to Morrissey's arm. "But it'll probably pass."

"I'm so sorry, we shouldn't have done this, I should have been more careful about how much I drank," Morrissey fussed anxiously.

"Calm down," Johnny said, which was hard for Morrissey to do since Johnny was still swaying on the spot. "You didn't drink too much," he continued firmly.

"Are you sure?" Morrissey asked while looking down at him. Morrissey did at first feel like he hadn't drunk too much, but he wasn't completely sure since he'd been so wrapped up in the moment and now that Johnny felt so weak he didn't even know anymore.

"Yes, you didn't do it for that long" Johnny assured him.

"But then... why did it make you so dizzy?" Morrissey asked, which earned him a shrug. "Have you eaten well today?"

"Um," Johnny mumbled sheepishly. "Define well?"

"Johnny!" Morrissey scolded. "Have you eaten _anything_?"

"Cake? I had a busy day and then I kind of forgot," he explained.

"Oh my God," Morrissey huffed. He wanted to judge him but he couldn't really, since he'd been forgetful and picky about food himself as a mortal. He could imagine Johnny running around all day and not realizing to take care of himself. But he really should, considering how tiny he was.

"Right, I'm taking you home and you're going to eat when you get there," he said firmly and extended his arm around Johnny's shoulder.

"Fine, but I can walk by myself you know," Johnny said and shrugged away from Morrissey's arm. He took a couple of steps again, but soon he almost stumbled again and returned to Morrissey's arm in defeat. "Okay, damn it, you're right."

Morrissey laughed, which earned him a poke in his side, and they set off to Johnny's place together.

When they were at the door Morrissey waited there for a while, making sure Johnny didn't fall over while he was digging around his pockets for his keys. But just as he found them and Morrissey was about to walk to the back of the house so he could climb in through the window, the door swung open.

A blonde woman who was perhaps in her thirties stood at the door, and he looked at Johnny with an amused expression.

"Oh, hey Michelle," Johnny grinned. He gestured to Morrissey who he was still leaning on. "This is my friend Morrissey. Moz, this is my landlady Michelle."

"Hello," Morrissey said shyly. He'd never seen the family who owned the house, but he remembered Johnny saying they're nice.

"Nice to meet you," she said with a cheery smile, and then looked at Johnny again. "I saw you coming down the street. It's what, nine the evening and you're already pissed? You must be having a great birthday."

She gestured to Johnny's wobbly state of being, assuming Johnny was drunk. Morrissey tried to hide a laugh. It was a fair assumption though, and he was glad she didn't suspect what had actually happened. He noticed she didn't seem angry or particularly reproving of Johnny.

"Yeah, we came here to calm down a bit," Johnny said with a laugh.

"Well, come in, come in both of you," she said.

Johnny and Morrissey shared a private grin at the invitation. They went in together, and luckily there was no invisible barrier to stop Morrissey this time.

Johnny stopped by the kitchen to make a couple of sandwiches under the vigilant eye of Morrissey, and they went up the stairs to Johnny's room. Morrissey loved being able to walk around the house like a normal person, and he looked at the photographs along the walls with interest as they made their way.

"Enjoy using the door?" Johnny asked him once they were sitting on Johnny's bed, leaning on the headboard.

"Very much," Morrissey replied. "Your landlady really is nice."

"Mm-hmm," Johnny mumbled around his sandwich.

They sat there listening to a record Johnny got for his birthday from a friend, and soon after eating Johnny became sleepy and started dozing off so he announced he was taking a nap, which left Morrissey alone with the thoughts he'd felt swishing around in his head since the feeding. He supposed he couldn't ignore them any longer.

He looked down at Johnny's relaxed face, and then at Johnny's neck where a bit of the blood from Morrissey's finger was still visible. He was glad Michelle hadn't noticed.

He thought back to the cemetery, when he'd been so emotionally affected by the whole thing. He knew he hadn't enjoyed the feeding simply because Johnny's blood tasted good. It was because he was so close to him, because he could feel how warm his skin was, because he was beautiful and he made his heart beat faster.

He sighed. Even though he'd noticed Johnny's good looks earlier and felt happy in his company and liked him as a person tremendously, he hadn't really taken his feelings seriously. He just thought he was really fond of him. Maybe more fond than you tended to be about friends. Fine, he was really into him. But he had a good reason for having repressed his feelings. After all, what could he do about it? He had no idea how to do something as ghastly sounding as _flirting_ , and he also shouldn't forget he was a vampire and Johnny was a mortal.

Besides, maybe Johnny didn't like men. Or if he did, he might not like him back. Why would he? Yes, he had been nice to him and they were sometimes physically close, but maybe that was just him being friendly. He had no idea. People were more affectionate and physical now than in his youth, and even back then he hadn't really understood people's intentions. He really had no clue now.

He thought about the flowers Johnny had left him. Had that just been a friendly gesture as well? That reminded him he hadn't thanked him yet, though he wanted to.

"Hey, Johnny?" he asked quietly, not wanting to wake him if he was already asleep.

"Hmm?" he answered sleepily.

"Thank you for those flowers you left on my grave. They meant a lot to me," he said.

"No problem mate," Johnny said into his pillow with his eyes closed. "You deserve nice things."

Morrissey looked away and shrugged to himself. He was doomed.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Morrissey discovered that having feelings for someone you spent a lot of your time with was emotionally confusing. Every time he saw Johnny now he was so happy and felt hyperaware of every touch or look that might pass between them. And yet at the same time he was in constant torment.

Feeding from Johnny had changed things somewhat. If Johnny had had any reservations about Morrissey, they seemed to be gone now. The fact that Morrissey was a vampire had never been an elephant in the room for them, but knowing your friend sucks blood from people without knowing what it’s like had probably been hard for Johnny to understand. Now, however, it was like there were less things to separate them, like they had a deeper mutual understanding of each other.

It also meant that Johnny was sometimes more physically close to him, since they’d already shared a close experience. At first Morrissey wasn’t sure if there was an actual increase in physical contact or if it just felt like that to him now that he was more aware of Johnny’s every move. But after a while he was more certain of it. When they sat around hanging out and doing nothing, Johnny would sit slightly closer to him than before, or if they were on an aimless walk and Johnny saw something he wanted him to see or had a sudden idea, he would briefly grab his wrist or hand to get his attention.

Each night when he retired to his coffin he would analyze those moments and give himself a headache over it. Was their closeness a natural part of friendship, or was it a sign of something more? And every time his thoughts went down that path, he berated himself over it. It was foolish to feed his false hopes, and what would he do about it anyway?

Another thing that had changed was the length of the day. It was now November, which meant the days were rapidly getting darker and darker, which meant they had more time to spend together. Johnny would always insist on staying up with him, but sometimes when Johnny’s day had been busy with work or other things Morrissey would catch him getting sleepy by five in the morning.

Once he’d fallen asleep against his shoulder, and he had tried to stay as still as possible while knowing he’d eventually have to get up and go to the safety of his coffin. He’d been tempted to just stay there and let the sunlight obliterate him.

And it wasn’t long until Johnny asked if Morrissey could feed from him again. The question surprised him, since he’d assumed Johnny’s curiosity had been sated. But Johnny had mumbled something about it being nice. It confused him, but he supposed Johnny had a penchant for slightly unhealthy things. After all, he smoked a lot as well.

He didn’t have a reason to refuse. In fact he really wanted to do it again as well, from a selfish desperate need to be near him again. The blood felt secondary to the contact of his lips against Johnny’s skin. Except that he didn’t dare drink from his neck this time, he felt too self conscious for it.

The night he fed from him again was a peculiarly warm one for November so they took advantage of it and lounged in the grass at the cemetery. This time he made sure Johnny had eaten well. He promised he had and even pulled out a brown paper bag from behind his back with a grin. He showed the contents, which included a small sandwich, a banana and a juicebox. It was like a bizarre school lunch situation, or a horribly twisted picnic, and it made them both laugh.

He took Johnny’s hand and pulled it towards himself, rolling the sleeve of his leather jacket a little so he had access to his wrist. Johnny’s hand was slightly cold – despite being a warm night for the season it hadn’t exactly been a hot day – but it was still warmer than his own hands. He wished he could hold it, lace his own fingers with Johnny’s and see if the hand got warmer or not, and hold on to it for the rest of the night.

Instead he held up the wrist near to his mouth and shot a glance at Johnny for approval. He couldn’t see his expression since he was wearing sunglasses – God knows why since it was dark – but he gave him a nod.

He’d thought it wouldn’t feel intimate to him this time since it was just his wrist, but touching Johnny’s pulse with his lips made him feel all giddy again. He had to stop himself from doing something inappropriate like kissing his wrist repeatedly, so he bit down quickly.

He heard Johnny gasp which made him look up with worry in the middle of his euphoria, but Johnny shook his head and said he wasn’t hurt. While he drank he could sense Johnny looking at him through his shades and he wished not for the first time that he could know what he’s thinking. Unfortunately reading minds wasn’t something he could do, and he doubted that any vampire could actually do it.

He had to mentally slap himself to once again remember to stop before he took too much blood, and he let go of the wrist reluctantly. He licked his lips and was about to bite his own finger, ready to heal the wounds, when Johnny interrupted him.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly, and Morrissey paused with his index finger in his mouth.

“Hm?” Morrissey looked at him curiously.

Johnny was looking down at his wrist, inspecting the puncture wounds that were gaping and red with blood. Morrissey noticed with great embarrassment that there was also a bit of saliva below the two holes.

Johnny took off his shades to see the spectacle better.

“Holy shit,” he said. “So that’s what it looks like.”

“I’m sorry, I know it must look terrifying,” Morrissey said and finally bit down on his finger and touched the wounds with it, making them disappear before both of their eyes. A bit of Johnny’s blood had begun to drip down along his arm, so Morrissey cleaned the mess up with the sleeve of his jumper.

“No, it was cool,” Johnny said. “Fucked up, but in a cool way, you know?”

“I want to say no, but I think I understand what you mean,” Morrissey said with a sigh. Even though he didn’t really like violent things, he had a flair for the macabre, and by now he was getting used to Johnny finding unnatural things cool.

Johnny chuckled and Morrisey turned to look at him. He had a slight blush decorating his cheeks like the last time, as if he was the one who’d been invigorated by the feeding. It wasn’t fair of him to look so lovely, he thought miserably.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. Johnny didn’t look dizzy this time, but he wanted to make sure.

“Great,” Johnny said with a grin. He looked like he was about to say something else too, but he closed his mouth and only smiled at Morrissey.

“Good. Now eat your lunch,” Morrissey reminded him, shooting a look at the paper bag that was lying at their feet.

“Yes, sir,” Johnny said in an amused tone and dug into the crinkling bag. He pulled out the banana, peeled it and started eating it slowly.

Morrissey looked up at Johnny again, about to talk to him about the book he was currently reading, but the sentence died on his lips. Johnny had been looking at him and now their eyes met while Johnny still had that cursed banana in his mouth. Morrissey wasn’t a person whose mind often jumped to lewd things, but to his shame he found the sight almost obscenely seductive, what with Johnny’s cheeks slightly hollowed and -

  
He looked away quickly and silently called on all the gods and saints he knew to stop him from blushing like a schoolboy. He’s just eating his lunch, he told himself firmly. He made himself get his mind out of the gutter by frantically thinking about the book again and uttering something about it, which thankfully interested Johnny and they talked about it for the rest of their odd picnic.

When they parted later and Morrissey was changing into his pyjamas in his mausoleum, he remembered the bloodstain on his jumper. Somehow it felt like the red smudge was taunting him, like it was a reminder of the fact that he couldn’t go to sleep without having Johnny as his last thought of the night.

 

* * *

 

 

  
Though they had more time to see each other now, the time still passed quickly whenever they got together, even if they did practically nothing all night. They hanged out at Johnny’s a lot more now that it was truly getting colder, and they never ran out of records to listen to.

He didn’t want to drink from Johnny constantly since it wouldn’t be exactly healthy for him to lose blood so often, so a couple of weeks passed without Morrissey feeding on him again. He was grateful for it because it meant that it was less likely for him to embarrass himself, but despite that he was still looking forward to the next time.

Meanwhile, he tried to avoid physical contact with Johnny because he was worried he’d let some of his feelings show if they got close too often, but he also tried not to avoid it too much in case Johnny noticed him acting odd. It was so complicated that sometimes he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. He wasn’t sure if Johnny noticed anything about his behaviour. He knew Johnny better than he had ever known anybody, but he still couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he was thinking. He felt like a fish out of water with these things.

He decided to try to suppress his feelings while they were together and just try to relax, and for the moment it seemed to be working.

One cold night Johnny invited him over to the house, telling him that Michelle and the family were away for the weekend, and that they always allowed him to use the house as he wished as long as he didn’t break anything or host big parties. Johnny didn’t have a television in his little room-apartment, but there was one in the house’s living room and he suggested that they have a movie marathon. Morrissey was more than excited about that, because he rarely got to see movies.

“So when’s the last time you actually did see a movie?” Johnny asked him while he was rummaging the shelf full of VHS tapes.

“I saw one last year I think,” Morrissey thought back while sitting down on the sofa. What a delight it was, to sit on a sofa in front of a television, inside a real house.

Johnny paused in his browsing. “How _do_ you watch movies since you can’t get in to theaters?”

Morrissey sighed. “It’s a bit creepy, but I know some houses where the television is near a window. Sometimes if I’m bored I stand there in the shadows, watching and waiting in case they decide to start watching something interesting.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, looking like he tried to imagine what that would be like. “Sounds… fun.”

“The worst thing is when after waiting a long time they finally start watching a movie, but it turns out to be utter trash… You’d better not show me trash, Johnny,” he said sincerely.

Johnny grinned. “I’ll try my best. I have a feeling you might like something a bit less modern?”

Morrissey nodded eagerly. There had been a lot of movies he wished he could have seen when they came out a couple of decades ago, and none of the current ones sounded interesting. Johnny pulled out all the movies from the shelf that were made before the 70s, and Morrissey picked one of them at random. It was a movie called Billy Liar, and Morrissey watched with interest as Johnny put the VHS tape in and rewinded the movie to the beginning. He rarely got to see modern technology up close, and while he was generally happy to live without it, it was fascinating to experience it.

Johnny went around the house turning off all the lights apart from a softly glowing lamp in the corner, and he settled in on the sofa next to Morrissey. The movie began and Morrissey leaned closer to the screen in awe. Being so close to a television made it somehow feel more unreal. From afar, it was a concept he could understand. But now, looking at those light particles forming a moving picture…

“Oi, you don’t need to press your face against the screen to see it,” Johnny said while laughing and he pulled Morrissey back beside him by his sweater.

“But it’s so peculiar,” Morrissey said, trying to shake off the transfixed feeling.

“You’ll get used to it,” Johnny said with a fond smile.

He did. As the movie progressed he focused more on the plot and accepted the fact that televisions were something normal and typical to the time. He was also lulled by the comfortable atmosphere in the room, even if he was extremely aware of his and Johnny’s proximity. The movie turned out to be ridiculous but in a brilliant way, and for a while he was so wrapped up in it that he didn’t dare speak, but eventually he and Johnny eased into a hushed commentary.  
When it ended he was eagerly picking out the next one, excited to see more. A particular cover suddenly caught his attention and he snatched it up quickly and handed it over to Johnny.

“East of Eden,” Johnny read the cover. “Why do you want to see this one?”

“It’s got James Dean in it,” Morrissey explained. “I’ve never seen his movies but I’ve heard and read of him a lot.”

“Alright,” Johnny said and put the movie in.

They sat back on the sofa. Neither of them were tired, but they ended up sort of slumped against each other anyway. There was plenty of room on the sofa for the both of them, but they ignored this fact. Really it was nothing new since they’d leaned on each other casually before, but to Morrissey it felt slightly different this time because of the cozy feeling of watching movies together, especially when Johnny’s head settled on his shoulder. Like they were on a date or something. But he pushed that thought out of his mind as soon as it appeared so he could just enjoy Johnny’s warmth. And, well, James Dean’s face.

The plot turned out to be rather lackluster and a cheap reference to biblical themes, but none of that really mattered to him. It was James Dean and the man playing his brother who interested him. He gave up on commentating the plot altogether at some point and just switched to talking about the actors, only realizing by the end that maybe he should have said something at least slightly heterosexual once in a while.

Johnny seemed to have noticed his interest because when the credits started to roll at the end he turned his head to him and asked “So you’re into James Dean then?”

“Yeah…,” Morrissey said, looking down at him and unsure of what he was supposed to say. “Are you?”

“Nah, he’s not my type,” Johnny said, but he smiled somewhat smugly while still looking at Morrissey. It looked like he had a gleam in his eye, but that could have been the television screen’s reflection.

Morrissey frowned and tried to figure out what that was about. Was there a hidden meaning in that reply? Why on earth was he smiling like that? Did it mean he’d figured out Morrissey wasn’t exactly straight but he was telling Morrissey that he was straight himself? He decided to analyze this later in his coffin, since for now Johnny didn’t seem to elaborate further on the subject.

A short silence settled between them. They were both reluctant to get up and change the movie since they were so comfortable there, or at least Morrissey was, and Johnny didn’t look like he had any plans to move either.

“Moz?” Johnny said suddenly.

“Yes?” Morrissey looked at him.

“Would you bite me again?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“Oh, um. Sure,” Morrissey said, taken aback and nervous but pleased all the same. He still couldn’t quite fathom why Johnny would want him to do it, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

He started rolling the sleeve of Johnny’s shirt, but Johnny pushed the sleeve back down in place.

“Actually… when you drank from my wrist it kind of felt numb later, like when I was playing guitar? So could you, um, drink from my neck this time?” Johnny mumbled.

“What?” Morrissey said, puzzled. “I hurt your arm? But didn’t your neck hurt just the same?”

“Oh, err,” Johnny thought for a while. “It didn’t _hurt_ , it just felt funny because I use my hand a lot to play, you know?”

Morrissey nodded slowly. He didn’t actually know what it felt like from Johnny’s point of view, so he shrugged. He turned his eyes to Johnny’s neck. He was wearing a button up-shirt like the first time they did this, but Johnny didn’t move to unbutton it himself. He was just waiting patiently and looking up at Morrissey, from his relaxed position against his shoulder.

“Okay,” Morrissey said, half to Johnny and half to reassure himself.

He nudged Johnny upwards with his shoulder a bit so he could unbutton the top buttons with his shaky fingers, and then he leaned in and brushed his nose against Johnny’s neck. He breathed in deep, remembering how good it felt to be this close to him.

They were already as close as they could be without it being questionable, but like the first time he had to angle them a little so he’d have better access, which is how he somehow ended up pulling Johnny almost flush against him with a hand around his waist.

He hesitated, thinking he was crossing a boundary, but Johnny didn’t object in any way. He could hear Johnny’s heartbeat, which was fast and loud and he couldn’t wait any longer when he already had his face in his warm neck. He lifted his free hand to support Johnny’s head again just in case and bit down.

He couldn’t help letting out a small moan when the blood hit his tongue. Of course he hadn’t forgotten the taste, but to taste it again from Johnny’s warm neck was divine. By now though, this being the third time, he was more used to event itself. It meant that he didn’t get lost so much in the blood itself, but instead was able to also focus on other things at the same time. Mainly – well, solely – Johnny; the way his fingers tangled themselves in Morrissey’s hair and gripped it hard, the breathy gasps he let out whenever Morrissey drew out more blood with his mouth, the almost thunderous pulse he could hear and feel beneath his lips and under the hand that held Johnny’s jaw.

Being aware of these details and being so warmly and snugly pressed against the very person he was quite frankly mad about drove him into a desperate sort of passion. He knew when he’d have to stop drinking and he knew he’d be able to stop easily, but he felt reluctant about it because it meant that all of this physical contact would come to an end.

He stopped anyway, not wanting to risk taking too much blood. But, being in a frenzy, he did something extremely embarrassing and impulsive without thinking. Instead of withdrawing from Johnny’s neck altogether and healing the puncture wounds the way he had always done, he bit down on his tongue so that it started bleeding and licked Johnny’s neck.

He had to lick again, hard this time, so that his own blood would properly get in the puncture wounds and heal them. He felt Johnny shiver under his touch and heard him breathe in sharply. The fingers in Morrissey’s hair tightened.

He drew back suddenly, realizing what he’d done with a sinking feeling of shame. He recoiled, but didn’t get very far from Johnny because Johnny’s hand was still in his hair. He glanced at the spot the puncture wounds had been in, saw that they were fully healed, and flicked his eyes to Johnny’s, who was looking back at him with wide brown eyes.

Morrissey felt himself blush. He didn’t know what to say. Should he apologize right now or pretend nothing happened?

Johnny had a searching sort of look to his eyes now, like he was trying to figure something out from Morrissey’s face.

“Moz?” he asked tentatively.

“I, uh,” Morrissey muttered, looking away from Johnny. He quickly but carefully removed Johnny’s fingers from his hair, thus freeing himself. Then he scrambled away from their quasi-embrace and got off the sofa. He walked to the movie shelf.

“D’you want to watch another one?” he asked rather pathetically.

He heard Johnny sigh, and when he risked a look at him he was still sitting on the sofa, now cross-legged and looking frustrated for some reason.

“Sure,” Johnny said blandly. Then he sighed again and rubbed his face with his hand. “Yeah. You can pick one, I’m gonna go to the bathroom for a sec.”

Morrissey nodded and turned to the VHS tapes, not really looking at them. He heard Johnny get up and go to the bathroom.

He groaned silently from shame and put his face in his hand. There was no way he was going to be able to watch another movie with Johnny and pretend he didn’t just lick Johnny’s neck when there was no reason to do so.

He wasn’t sure if he was making a big deal of it or not. Maybe Johnny didn’t think it was weird? But then again he had looked at him in that odd way and seemed almost annoyed with him. Maybe he’d forget it after a day or two.

He paced around the room, trying to think of what to do, when he spotted a pile of empty post-it notes and a pen on the table next to the front door. He went to them and hastily wrote a note.

_Johnny_  
_I’m sorry, I was still feeling thirsty, I haven’t had enough blood this week so I’m going out to feed again._  
_We’ll watch more movies some other day, okay?_  
_\- Morrissey_

He pinned the note to the door, feeling ashamed for lying. Of course he’d had enough blood, but Johnny didn’t have to know that.

He left as quietly as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how tf did this get so long again...
> 
> anyway tHERE YOU GO GUYS I'm sorry if this chapter is a huge mess oh my god!!  
> and sorry for the obvious james dean cliché but I had to do it.
> 
> let me know what you think! your comments mean the world to me honestly. If you're still reading this I Love You. ♥


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here you gooo! sorry for taking a long time to update. I reaally appreciate you if you're still interested in this!

Morrissey had been blissfully unaware of his blunder the previous night when he’d been asleep but as soon as he opened his eyes he groaned from embarrassment and covered his eyes with his hands.

He wanted to wallow in his shame until sunrise would come and then he could be unconscious again. He’d left so abruptly yesterday that they hadn’t had time to make any plans, so he was pretty sure that Johnny wasn’t expecting him anyway. But eventually he began to feel almost claustrophobic with all the pitiful squirming he was doing and his thoughts seemed to suffocate him.

So he decided to go for a walk, and when he opened the door of the mausoleum he could smell cigarette smoke and the very familiar scent that belonged to Johnny. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved that he’d come to see him or not.

He breathed in deeply for a moment, bracing himself, and then walked a little distance to where Johnny was standing.

Apparently he’d been standing there for a while because Morrissey could see three cigarette stumps by his feet. He was now smoking a fourth.

Morrissey felt a vague urge to chide Johnny for his excessive smoking, but the thought died away since he knew he was too nervous to say anything sensible. His mouth and entire face felt numb as he locked eyes with Johnny. His hair was slightly pushed off from his face so that his brown eyes were more visible, and Morrissey noticed he had eyeliner around them.

Why did he have to look so handsome and endearing at the same time? Morrissey thought with despair.

Johnny said hello to him and continued smoking. There was a nervous air about him, which was unusual. He would glance at Morrissey and then breathe the smoke in deeply, and Morrissey thought he might be about to say something.

Perhaps he was about to bring up that weird moment from yesterday? Tell him off for being such a creep?

He felt a heavy dread that seemed to course through all of his limbs like lead. Then Johnny looked at him again and opened his mouth. But he closed it and looked away, and Morrissey could see his shoulders sag a little. He was pretty sure he heard him sigh as well.

And then suddenly Johnny turned back around and started talking about his shift at work in a casually cheerful way, and the weird nervousness that had seemed to envelop him disappeared.

Morrissey wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he quickly joined in on the idle chat, grateful that Johnny didn’t seem to be upset with him.

He wasn’t sure if he should apologize for his behaviour the night before or not. He was afraid that if he did, it would draw more attention to it, and then Johnny might question why he’d done it, and then he’d end up exposing his feelings.

He came to the conclusion that if Johnny wasn’t going to talk about it, then neither was he.

 

* * *

 

 

  
And so things returned back to normal – or whatever it had been between them – and a couple of weeks went by. But sometimes Morrissey would catch Johnny sending him glances that he couldn’t understand. At times he’d look at Morrissey so intently, it seemed like he was trying to send some sort of telephatic message to him.

And when he’d finally be about to ask why he was looking at him, Johnny would look away and carry on with their conversation.

One day Johnny casually asked him if he wanted some blood. He hadn’t expected Johnny to ever ask it of him again, and he panicked and had to lie to Johnny again about his feedings – he claimed he’d drunk from someone so much the previous night that he couldn’t drink a drop.

Johnny had shrugged and looked oddly sad about it, which made Morrissey feel like an utter imbecile for refusing him. As if he’d ever not want to drink Johnny’s blood when he offered it. But he didn’t want to risk doing something idiotic again.

Johnny didn’t suggest it again after that, and though Morrissey secretly longed for it, he was relieved.

 

* * *

 

 

  
They were a good deal into December when the subject of Christmas presents came up in their conversations. Johnny had been thinking it’d be nice to exchange gifts, but not physical ones because Morrissey had no means of buying one. And since Johnny had been pestering him to show him some of his poetry for a while now, he suggested Morrissey could write something for him.

They ended up agreeing it would be fun to write a song together as a present to each other. Johnny would record something on a tape and lend a casette player to Morrissey, who could listen to it and write lyrics to it. Then they’d perform it together to each other a week before Christmas, because Johnny would be going out of town with his family for the actual Christmas eve and day.

Morrissey was excited about the idea, since he’d never really done much with his scraps of poetry. And he longed to sing to someone. Johnny knew he could sing, from when Morrissey would sing along to some music they’d been listening to, but he’d never actually done it properly and with his own words.

Johnny was quick to come up with the tune, and soon Morrissey was able to listen to it over and over again in his coffin before he went to sleep. He would mull over the lyrics in his head before the sleep took him, and when he woke up he’d scribble up words in his notebook frantically.

The tune was a slow, leisurely one and relatively simple but still somehow complex, and he was aware that the lyrics he wrote for it were dark and weird, which meant that the song would be a rather unconventional one. But he thought it was the best song in existence because it was theirs and couldn’t wait to share it with Johnny.

So when the day came to play it, he flung open the lid of his coffin as soon as he opened his eyes and almost ran all the way to Johnny’s.

Johnny looked equally excited as he felt when he opened the door for him. They sat cross-legged facing each other on Johnny’s bed, but instead of reaching for the guitar on the floor nearby, Johnny picked up a brown paper package that was lying on the bed. He looked a bit sheepish, holding it.

“I know we weren’t supposed to get each other any other presents, but…,” Johnny began slowly, turning the crinkly bundle over in his hands.

“Wait, no-,” Morrissey interrupted, but Johnny interrupted him back.

“If you’re thinking about feeling bad because you didn’t buy me anything, don’t,” he said firmly. He thrust the package at Morrissey, who shot him a suspicious look, but started opening the present anyway.

There was something soft and knitted inside it, and it turned out to be a colourful, cozy looking jumper.

“I wasn’t going to, but then went and got a jumper for you anyway,” Johnny explained. “I thought since your jumpers look a bit worn… I don’t mean you look shabby, you’d look amazing in a fucking potato sack, but-”

“What?” Morrissey asked, unsure if he’d heard the bit about the potato sack correctly.

“What?” Johnny repeated innocently, then went on, speaking rather quickly. “What I was saying, I thought you might like a new one.”

Then he shrugged and gestured to the jumper in Morrissey’s hands.

Morrissey didn’t know what to say. He felt sensitive all of a sudden and was afraid he’d start crying over the damn thing.

”Thank you,” he managed.

To distract himself from his feelings he put it down and started removing the ratty jumper he was currently wearing. Johnny looked away respectfully, and Morrissey put on the new jumper. It felt soft and warm and perfect.

”I love it,” he said, and a shy smile started tugging at his lips. There was something extremely satisfying about wearing something that Johnny had chosen for him especially.

”Good,” Johnny said, and regarded him with such a warm and wide smile that Morrissey thought he was going to die just from looking at him.

They looked at each other for a while, sort of frozen in the nice little moment they were in. But after a moment of gazing, Johnny’s cheeks seemed to redden a little, and he finally reached for the guitar and picked it up.

”Shall we do this then?” he asked, fingers ready at the neck of the guitar.

”Yes,” Morrissey said, nodding enthusiastically. He was a bit nervous now, but in a good, thrilling way.

Johnny started playing the opening notes of the song, and Morrissey nodded along, waiting to join in. Johnny sent a quick look his way with an expectant smile, curious to see when Morrissey would start singing.

When Morrissey did begin, singing softly at first, Johnny’s fingers seemed to slip a little on the strings but he recovered quickly and went on playing steadily. Morrissey grew more confident as the song went on, his voice growing stronger.

The song sounded amazing. It felt like the music flowed naturally and easily out of them, and Morrissey supposed Johnny was enjoying it as much as he was, because they both kept looking at each other happily all the way until the end of the song.

” _I did my best for her_ ,” Morrissey finished gently.

He noticed Johnny had an odd look to his eyes, a sort of determined and heated one, but he didn’t have a lot of time to think about what it meant because when Johnny was done playing he almost threw the guitar aside, quickly shifted closer to Morrissey on the bed, grabbed his face and planted his lips firmly against his.

Morrissey barely registered the hands that were cradling his face. Every particle of him was focused on the warm, open pair of lips that were currently setting fire to his. He was half aware of drawing in a deep breath, and then suddenly there was nothing because Johnny had withdrawn and sat back on the bed.

Morrissey stared at him.

He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He spent a moment trying to figure out if he was still asleep in his coffin. Had he astral projected out of his body to someone else’s? Could this be really happening to him? His head felt hazy.

And how did speaking work, again? He’d have to open his mouth and say something. His mouth, that Johnny had suddenly just kissed.

Meanwhile Johnny was looking at him in concern, and he’d dug out a cigarette at the speed of light apparently and started smoking it.

”Are you going to smoke inside?” was what came out of Morrissey’s mouth first.

”Yeah. Are you going to say anything else besides that?” Johnny asked coolly, but Morrissey noticed with alarm that the hand that was holding up the cigarette was shaking slightly, and he realized how nervous Johnny looked. He’d probably freaked him out with his silence.

”Oh, I’m sorry,” Morrissey said sincerely.

Heart thumping wildly, he reached for Johnny’s free hand, drew it towards himself and kissed the back of it. He felt himself blush awfully with shyness.

Johnny looked down at the hand Morrissey had kissed, and a small smile formed on his lips. He looked more hopeful now, and he raised his eyebrows at Morrissey.

”So... I didn’t just fuck everything up completely by kissing you, did I?” Johnny asked.

Morrissey shook his head, still blushing like an idiot. He kept holding on to Johnny’s hand like it was a lifeline.

”No, uh- I was taken aback. If only you knew how much I’m into you,” he said with a breathless little laugh.

”Oh, why don’t you tell me then?” Johnny suggested with a cheeky grin. His cheeks were a bit flushed as well.

”Well, I was captivated by you the moment I met you, and ever since getting to know you your very presence has made me happier than anything, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for a long time now,” Morrissey confessed with a little shrug. It felt weird for him to say all that, and some survival instinct in him told him to bolt and run to safety, but then he reminded himself that _Johnny had kissed him_. Voluntarily.

Johnny looked awestruck.

”I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either,” he said happily, stroking Morrissey’s hand with his thumb.

”Really?” Morrissey asked. ”Wait, _really_?”

”Yeah,” Johnny said. ”I like you a _lot_ , Moz. I was supposed to tell you, but I couldn’t, and when we were playing the song I just… your voice was so amazing and I loved the song and you look so cute in that bloody jumper, so I didn’t even think, I had to kiss you. I’m sorry it was so out of the blue.”

“No, I’m glad you did it,” Morrissey said bashfully.

They looked at each other and the situation seemed to finally sink in for both of them, that this was actually happening and neither had been rejected and they didn’t have to hide their feelings anymore. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a while, until suddenly Johnny remembered the cigarette that had been entirely neglected in his other hand.

”Hold on a sec,” Johnny said.

He detached his hand from Morrissey’s, got up from the bed and quickly stumped the cigarette on his windowsill and threw it out. Then he jumped back on the bed and entwined his hands behind Morrissey’s neck, drawing him closer. Their noses touched, and they both gave out a laugh, feeling all giddy and amazed.

Morrissey’s heart felt like it was going to burst, but not in the painful longing way he had been so used to when he’d been pining after Johnny. He’d thought it so unlikely that Johnny had feelings for him, but now he’d been proved wrong, and it was astounding for him to realize that Johnny had been through the same doubting and questioning as he had.

”Did you really not know I was mad about you?” Morrissey asked.

”I wasn’t completely sure,” Johnny said, making them laugh again. ”And I tried to send you so many hints but you just weren’t getting them.”

”Me? Get hints? What were you expecting?” Morrissey asked with an amused scoff.

Johnny kissed him on his nose, which reminded them that they were able to kiss each other now and that they were very close to each other indeed, and so Johnny sought out Morrissey’s lips again. He parted his lips to kiss Morrissey’s lower lip, and Morrissey remembered all those times he’d scoffed cynically at whichever romantic poetry or novel he’d chanced across where the characters raved on about how great kissing was, but now he understood it.

Johnny’s lips were warm and soft, and with every gentle kiss that he gave Morrissey, he could feel a thrill in his stomach and an odd, happy rush in his head.

Morrissey kissed him back, but he was suddenly extremely aware of the fact that he was over a hundred years old and he’d never kissed anybody before. He pulled back from Johnny, hearing a little smack as they parted.

”I have no idea how to do any of this,” he reminded Johnny, gesturing vaguely between them. He was starting to feel a bit embarrassed, and Johnny seemed to notice his discomfort.

”Don’t worry,” he said. He nudged Morrissey and gave him a gentle push so that they were now lying on the bed, and Johnny settled himself next to him and laid his head on his chest. ”We’ll take things slow and – wow, this jumper really is soft – I can teach you stuff, you know? Not that I’m really savvy at this stuff myself.”

Morrissey huffed out a fond laugh. ”Shouldn’t it be weird that I’m a vampire?”

Johnny shrugged awkwardly against his chest. ”Wasn’t weird when we were just friends, and nothing’s changed except that, y’know, we’re a bit closer now. And it’s not like you’re a walking corpse or something.”

As he said it, he shifted his head a little so that his ear was pressed against where Morrissey’s heart lay, and he was evidently listening to the heartbeat.

”I wish I was as cool and easy about things as you are,” Morrissey muttered.

”I’ve definitely not been cool recently,” Johnny said with a laugh. ”I completely chickened out of confessing my feelings for you a couple weeks back. Now that it’s happened it’s like, I don’t want to worry about anything ever.”

”Hmm,” Morrissey hummed. A part of him knew that the whole question of him being a vampire was going to come back to haunt and worry him at some point. But he pushed it out of his mind for now, because he’d really wanted this thing with Johnny without actually believing it would ever happen and he was excited about it.

“What is this thing that we now have, by the way?” Morrissey asked. “Are we ‘dating’ or something? Or is it way too early to ask?”

“Hell yeah we’re dating now,” Johnny said contentedly. Then he raised his head. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Morrissey said, which made Johnny smile and give him a kiss.

The entire relationship jargon felt funny to him, because back when he’d been a mortal people that were romantically interested in each other would mostly just get married, and dating didn’t really exist the same way it did now. It all felt so alien to him, but then again he’d been out of the loop even back then, so he supposed it didn’t really matter. All he knew was that he wanted to be with Johnny.

“Best Christmas present ever,” he heard Johnny mutter against his face.

He agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops this got a bit cheesy but I've got to say I felt stupidly proud of them while writing this. like, FINALLY YOU GUYS.
> 
> I hope you liked it! comments are, as always, extremely welcome. ♥


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aah I’m so sorry for taking such a long ass time with the update once again! I wrote the beginning of this chapter like a month ago but I absolutely hated it and couldn’t touch the fic for ages and then I rewrote it but kinda still hated some of it but I decided to swallow my defeat and just get on with it because I really wanted to write this I hope this doesn’t suck
> 
> also damn this chapter got way too long bear with me
> 
> *throws this chapter at you like it’s a hot potato that I’ve been holding too long*

The technicalities of dating didn’t turn out to be as intimidating as Morrissey had thought. As their relationship progressed and a month flew by he realized that kissing was just another, more intimate way to connect. And it turned out to be great – so great that they couldn’t quite get enough of it sometimes.

As Johnny was currently covering Morrissey’s body with his own and peppering him with warm kisses, he thought fondly back to New Year’s Eve, when they’d missed the whole changing of the year because they’d been too wrapped up with each other in a similar way as now.

No, he didn’t need to worry about how to be close to Johnny or how to express his affections. If he had been with any other person, he would have felt insecure about how his touches or kisses or actions were inferior to how normal, socially competent people acted. With Johnny it felt natural.

He had also always thought himself to be perhaps too intellectual or cold to lose himself in another person and behave like a desperate teenager, but here he was, lying shirtless on Johnny’s bed and meeting Johnny’s kisses with obvious enthusiasm like there was no tomorrow.

He had quite recently discovered that he had a penchant for being shirtless. He wasn’t sure why he liked it so much – it wasn’t like he had any muscles to show off. He just experienced some sort of thrilling excitement when he was able to swing his shirt about and then fling it dramatically across the room.

And luckily Johnny seemed to appreciate it very much indeed. Morrissey was aware that removing one’s clothing was a step in a certain direction, and to his surprise he found that he wasn’t really all that worried about said direction since he knew it would probably come as naturally to them as everything else had so far.

His thoughts came to a halt when he suddenly felt Johnny’s tongue accidentally touch one of his fang teeth, which made Johnny withdrew with a small hiss.

“I always forget how sharp those are,” Johnny said with a breathy laugh.

Morrissey looked up at him. “You didn’t hurt your tongue, did you?”

“Nah,” Johnny shook his head. He bent down, about to resume their kiss, when he seemed to think of something and stopped before Morrissey’s mouth. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes?” Morrissey said, trying not to be distracted from the lack of distance between their lips.

“Last month, when I asked you if you wanted some blood, you said no, remember?” Johnny started, fiddling with Morrissey’s hair.

“Oh, that,” Morrissey said, realizing with a start that the subject hadn’t come up. “Sorry. I lied when I said I’d had too much, when in truth I was just worried I’d embarrass myself.”

“Wait, seriously?” Johnny said with a laugh. “And the reason I kept asking was because I wanted to be close to you.”

“Wow, we’re pathetic,” Morrissey remarked, while being secretly very pleased by the thought of Johnny’s endeavours.

“I know. But it actually also felt good when you fed on me. Like, _really_ good,” Johnny added with a small blush. “I’m not sure how, but it did.”

Morrissey raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn’t realized it had affected Johnny that much.

A loaded silence settled between them for a while as they stared at each other.

“Um, yeah,” Johnny said eventually. “So you want some now?”

“Good God, yes,” Morrissey replied. He’d been too busy being happy about all the snogging to realize how much he wanted it, but now his heartbeat quickened and his eyes darted to Johnny’s neck.

Johnny smiled smugly, probably noticing how positively parched Morrissey must have looked by now. He dove in for a deep kiss and started unbuttoning his top buttons while he was at it, but before either of them could get any further with the matter they could both distinctly hear the voice of Michelle, Johnny’s landlady, shouting from downstairs.

“Johnny! Your friend came by, he’s coming up!”

They both froze for a second, until Johnny sat up quickly. His eyes widened.

“Fuck, I forgot I promised to see Andy!” he hissed.

They could hear footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Uh, awkward?” Morrissey said.

They both flew to action, Johnny buttoning his shirt back up and sorting his hair out which had been mussed by Morrissey earlier while Morrissey jumped up from the bed and started frantically searching for his shirt from whichever dimension it had disappeared into.

He quickly put together what he knew about Andy. He’d never met him, but he knew he was one of Johnny’s closest friends, played bass, and was a good guy who unfortunately had a bit of a problem with drugs sometimes.

He thought about fleeing through the window briefly, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready to meet this important person with such a short notice, but it turned out he wouldn’t have had time to leave because by the time he had finally located his shirt and pulled it over him Andy had knocked on the door and then opened it.

Johnny was sort of hovering near the door, while Morrissey sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to look casual.

“Oh, you have company,” what was Andy said as he entered the room and noticed Morrissey.

Morrissey regarded Andy as he was also being looked over. Ashy sort of dark blonde hair, funny pointed eyebrows and a pleasant face which was currently smiling. There was something cheeky about his smile.

“I’m sorry, I forgot about the thing,” Johnny said to Andy sheepishly.

“No shit,” Andy said, but Morrissey was relieved to see he didn’t look pissed off. He wouldn’t want to cause fights between Johnny and his friends.

“Um, Moz, this is Andy Rourke. Andy, this is my friend Morrissey,” Johnny said, gesturing to Morrissey, who gave a shy smile and a nod at Andy. Andy broke into a mischievous grin.

“Oh, so you make out with all of your _friends_ now, then? How come we never make out?” Andy asked, stifling a laugh.

Morrissey tried to keep his face from colouring, but it was a doomed effort, he was caught off guard too badly. He looked to Johnny, not knowing what to say.

Johnny looked equally startled. “How the fuck did you know?”

Andy bit his lip with obvious glee. He pointed at Morrissey. “Your shirt’s on backwards, mate.”

Morrissey looked down. It was indeed. “Oh,” he said.

“Also I’m not dumb,” Andy added. “You looked kind of obvious.”

Johnny coughed and suffled his feet. “But you’re cool with it?”

“Yeah, you twat,” Andy scoffed, but his tone was fond. “I’ve noticed how happy you’ve been lately.”

Johnny grinned, and Andy looked back at Morrissey.

“I don’t really know anything about you, but you seem alright. I mean, you’ve got to be since Johnny likes you,” he said, and then walked over to the bed where Morrissey was sitting and shook his hand.

Morrissey shook his hand back and breathed out in relief. He still felt a bit disoriented from everything that had just happened, but he was glad Andy seemed nice.

“Thank you,” he said after realizing he hadn’t said a word to Andy.

“Right,” Johnny said and walked over to Morrissey. “I’m so sorry Moz, but Andy’s got this important thing and I promised to go with him and… yeah.”

Morrissey got the hint miraculously enough. It was probably something personal that Morrissey couldn’t tag along to.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll walk down with you and go home, it’s not a problem,” he said.

“Sure?” Johnny asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, thanks,” Johnny said and gave him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. Morrissey saw Andy smile and look the other way quickly.

Johnny lifted the hem of Morrissey’s shirt and pulled it off, turned it the right way and gave it back with a grin. Morrissey put it on and started feeling less embarrassed now that he was at least correctly dressed. He thought back to when he’d first met Johnny in his pyjamas. What a dreadful excuse of a vampire he was.

As they headed out, Andy turned to them as he remembered something.

“Oh right, there’s a party at my place this Saturday. You’re coming, aren’t you? You too, Morrissey,” he said.

Morrissey blinked in confusion. He? Go to a party? Johnny glanced at him like he knew what he was thinking.

“I’ll try to get him to come with me,” Johnny said with amusement.

“Good luck with that,” Morrissey mumbled. Then he realized he was being rude to a person he didn’t know. He shrugged and looked at Andy. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Andy nodded.

“Okay, I’ve got stuff tomorrow but I’ll come by the- by your place on Saturday before the party, okay?” Johnny said to Morrissey. They both noted how Johnny almost said ‘by the cemetery’ and shared a look.

Morrissey nodded. Since they were on the street in front of a load of houses they didn’t dare share a kiss goodbye, so Johnny squeezed his hand quickly and dashed off with Andy.

“Cool meeting you!” Andy called out as they went.

As Morrissey went on his way he reflected on the moment that had transpired, and he couldn’t help but feel that something significant had happened, that now that he’d met someone important to Johnny, it was like he was more rooted in Johnny’s everyday life. They weren’t really in their own bubble anymore. He wasn’t unhappy about it, but it made him feel slightly odd in a way he couldn’t quite yet understand.

 

* * *

 

 

He would have thought that by the time he rose on Saturday evening he’d be absolutely adamant to not go to the party, but having mulled it over the previous day he thought it might not be that horrible. After all he could just leave if it was too much, and besides now that he’d met Andy he had some sort of vague need to show him that Johnny wasn’t dating an utter freak.

So when Johnny turned up at the cemetery and greeted him with some obviously cajoling kisses, it didn’t take Johnny that long to persuade him to go.

“I told Andy you’re shy and that you need to be properly invited in because you have funny manners, so we’ve got that part sorted out, and when it comes to the party itself I’ll stick by your side all the time so you don’t have to socialize by yourself,” Johnny said.

It sounded like a good enough deal.

“Who’s coming to this party, though?” Morrissey asked.

“I’m not sure, probably some mutual mates of Andy and me, but Andy’s also got these really annoying friends who’re stoned all the time and they might be there. But they’re harmless.”

Morrissey thought back to the most recent party he’d been to. It was in 1913, at some prestigious house in London where bearded rich men stood around fireplaces drinking brandy. It was when Robert Frost had insulted his poetry. He supposed Andy’s party was probably better.

“Okay, fine,” Morrissey said, which won him a couple more good kisses.

He looked at what he was wearing. Jeans that weren’t exactly new, the jumper Johnny had given him and a slightly battered long coat. That would do. Meanwhile Johnny was doing that thing again where he looked like he wasn’t wearing anything fancy, but looked like a rock star anyway. He had on skinny jeans, a dark turtleneck sweater and a jacket that looked a couple of sizes too big but like it was meant to be that way.

Johnny noticed him looking and did a sarcastic little twirl in the midst of lighting a cigarette.

God, he’s cute, Morrissey thought.

“Andy said he won’t mind if I told you about that thing the other day,” Johnny said while they were walking. “Basically he was in a bit of trouble at his job and I sort of know a guy who knows his boss and I went there to try to smooth things over so Andy can keep his job.”

“Wow,” Morrissey said. “Did it work?”

“Yeah, he gave Andy another chance.”

It was amazing how good Johnny was at talking to people and making connections, considering he wasn’t the most articulate person, Morrissey thought. He wished he had that skill, it would make his life as a vampire easier.

When they arrived at the house Johnny rang the doorbell so that Andy would come to the door. Luckily Andy had remembered Johnny’s request and invited them in.

A wave of sound flooded out of the living room, and Morrissey identified the loud music to be something by Iggy Pop. There were already a lot of people there, chatting and yelling and so forth, and Morrissey felt taken aback at the warmth the throng of people produced, and the collective scents of blood they emitted. He was glad he’d fed the previous day so he didn’t get too overwhelmed.

As Andy bounded off for a while, Johnny looked around the house and turned to Morrissey. “Ok, looks like most of the people here are those annoying people I talked about, but I’m gonna try to introduce you to some decent guys.”

Morrissey nodded. He felt an urge to take Johnny’s hand and hold on to it, but he resisted. He wondered if he looked like a scared animal to everyone around.

“What are people supposed to do at parties like these?” he asked quietly.

Johnny shrugged. “Not a lot, really. Get drunk, talk to people, listen to music. Don’t worry, this is more like a hangout type of thing.”

They made their way to the kitchen to grab a drink for Johnny, when a boy with short dark hair and rather noticeable ears lifted his head from the fridge – it looked like he had been doing some extensive searching for snacks – and greeted them.

“What’s up!” he said, with a jar of pickles in his hand. He seemed to be debating whether he’d settle for eating them.

Morrissey got the eerie feeling that he’d definitely come across this guy before.

“Hey man,” Johnny said and introduced them to each other.

The name Mike Joyce told him nothing, but with sudden clarity and horror Morrissey realized that he’d once drunk blood from him in some dark alley. He recognized the scent and the face now.

“Hey, have I met you before?” Mike asked just then, turning Morrissey’s blood cold.

Morrissey tried to remember if he’d made any mistakes when he fed from Mike, but he didn’t think he had. He always took care to confuse and almost drain his ‘victims’ so that they’d have no clear memory of him, but then again he’d never bumped into any of the people he’d drunk from and it could be that his face had been imprinted in Mike’s mind.

“No,” Morrissey replied curtly.

Mike seemed to be thinking for a while. It looked like an effort. “But you look familiar.”

Morrissey swallowed. He glanced at Johnny anxiously.

“School?” Johnny prompted, apparently catching on to what was going on and throwing a lifeline.

Mike nodded slowly. “Yeah, yeah. Hey, I think I do remember you from school. St. Gregory’s? Weren’t you in Rigby’s class?”

“Um. Yes. What a disgusting old bag that Rigby was,” Morrissey said, not having the slightest idea who Rigby was, but he was pretty sure that the teachers in Manchester’s schools were still just as hateful as they had been in his day.

“Yeah, he was a dickhead,” Mike nodded happily and finally decided to open the jar of pickles.

They left him to it.

“Oh, God,” Morrissey breathed out as they were within a good distance from the kitchen.

“I’m guessing you’re familiar with his arteries?” Johnny asked in a low voice so others wouldn’t hear.

Morrissey nodded. “He wasn’t even tasty, really. And didn’t look that bright either.”

Johnny laughed and bumped his shoulder. “C’mon. He’s alright, really. Also I hear he’s got his own drumkit and really knows how to play.”

After that they went in circles around the house, chatting briefly with a cool guy called Billy, and then some others that didn’t really leave an impression apart from the fact that they seemed okay. Morrissey’s nerves calmed down since the atmosphere was mostly boring, and because he hadn’t drank from any of the other people there.

They also talked to Andy, and even though Morrissey didn’t have that much to say to him he thought he was nice.

At some point Andy drifted off to roll blunts with his friends, and Morrissey and Johnny had ended up slouched on a sofa by themselves. The party was a bit dead, in the way that they’d lost track of the more interesting people and they were now surrounded by the stoners, but they thought they shouldn’t leave just yet because they hadn’t been there for that long.

“Ok, I’m bored,” Johnny announced after a while.

“Should we go get you another drink?” Morrissey suggested, just so they’d have something to do.

Johnny leaned closer to him so that he could whisper in his ear.

“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go to the bathroom so you can finally suck my blood.”

Morrissey felt thrills all over him. He nodded and got up from the sofa slightly shakily but embarrassingly fast. He heard Johnny snicker behind him as they made their way to the bathroom upstairs.

There were scatterings of people hanging around on the second floor, but no one took notice of them as they slipped in the rather cramped bathroom. They could still hear the music blaring quite loudly.

Johnny locked the door, flicked on the light switch and pulled Morrissey tight against him. Johnny had sort of walked them backwards so that Morrissey ended up pressing him against the wall, and though he generally preferred to be held by Johnny or to be lying under him, he found himself enjoying this situation immensely.

The ceiling light was very dim, which made the room feel even smaller, and although they’d shed their jackets somewhere in the house earlier it was very warm there, being pressed against each other like that.

Johnny dragged him in for a heated open-mouthed kiss and for a while they almost forgot what they’d originally come to do, but the more they kissed the more Johnny’s pulse intensified and his blood seemed to be beckoning to Morrissey.

He withdrew from Johnny’s warm lips and started kissing his way to Johnny’s neck, spreading the neck of the sweater a little so it wasn’t in the way. He traced the way of the artery in Johnny’s neck lightly with his lips, pressing a few kisses there now and then. The scent was almost overpowering, but he wanted to prolong the moment before he sank his teeth in.

It was interesting to him to approach the moment like this, because back when they’d been just friends the feedings were always more straight to business like, but now he was able to make it as intimate as he’d dreamed about.

By the erratic breathing and writhing Johnny was doing, it seemed that he was enjoying this aspect as well. He realized Johnny must have a really sensitive neck, because he seemed truly flustered now. He could sense how warm his blood was, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He bit down.

He heard Johnny moan loudly as his teeth punctured his skin and took the first mouthful of the heavenly blood. He felt Johnny’s hands grip his hair again like he had on some of the previous times. Now that he knew Johnny was into him, it was funny to think how he’d never noticed how much Johnny liked having his neck bitten.

“Fuck, why does that feel so good?” Johnny gasped.

He could feel Johnny clinging on to him like his life depended on it. It was like hanging on to his hair wasn’t enough, because he hooked his left leg behind Morrissey’s and drew him even closer. For a second Morrissey was worried that Johnny would melt right through the wall, he was so tightly pressed against it.

He went easy on the sucking of the blood so it wouldn’t have to come to end so quickly, and instead let the blood rise up to the surface of the wound and then drank it by kissing the wound hard.

“Fucking hell, Moz,” Johnny said breathlessly, which made Morrissey smile against his hot skin.

At that moment Johnny moved against him and he noticed exactly how aroused they both were. He paused with his mouth over Johnny’s neck. They hadn’t gone there yet, and the idea of actual sex was something that neither were really ready for, but right now he saw no reason why they couldn’t do _something_.

In his entire life he’d never been interested in the idea, in fact he’d almost assumed his vampiric body would make it impossible for him to feel aroused, but then he realized he’d just never been interested enough in anybody like he was now.

“Shit, sorry, maybe we shouldn’t,” Johnny said, frozen in place. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“No, I,” Morrissey started, then remembered that Johnny’s neck was still bleeding. “Wait.”

He healed the wound the way he’d been so embarrassed about the previous time (it felt like ages ago to him now), with his bleeding tongue. It made Johnny hiss with pleasure, but as Morrissey hadn’t replied to him yet he stayed still.

He looked up into Johnny’s eyes, which were so dark he could barely see the brown. His cheeks were red and he was biting his own lip. He looked like he was restraining himself from touching Morrissey, which amused him because they were still as tightly pressed against each other as before.

“I do want you,” Morrissey said, feeling himself blush all over. “I mean I’m not ready for everything, but, um, something? I don’t know how to- what to do, really.”

Johnny nodded in understanding and smiled.

“Like this, maybe?” he asked, and moved his body against Morrissey’s so that their groins rubbed against each other.

Morrissey breathed in sharply at the contact. “Oh dear. Yes please, like that.”

Johnny tried to lean in for a kiss, but Morrissey didn’t want him to be put off by the taste of his own blood in Morrissey’s mouth, so he gave his attentions to Johnny’s neck again which seemed to suit Johnny just fine judging by the noises he was making.

Morrissey figured out that the only thing they really needed to do was to just grind hard against each other, which didn’t turn out to be difficult or awkward, and soon they found a sort of rhythm that had them gasping. It was almost too hot in the bathroom now, but they couldn’t be bothered to remove their jumpers because it wasn’t likely they were going to last long at all.

Since Morrissey hadn’t drunk much from Johnny he reckoned he could take a tiny bit more, and after a particularly good roll of his hips he bit Johnny’s neck for the second time, this time a bit lower than before.

“Fuck!” Johnny almost yelled.

He hitched his leg so high and tight around Morrissey’s that he was almost lifted off the floor. Morrissey felt Johnny tense for a moment, and then his hips twitched and his legs started to shake slightly.

The taste of the hot, pulsing blood coupled with the ecstasy he was experiencing drove Morrissey completely over the edge along Johnny. He moaned and thought he was going to black out for a second, but he came to his senses enough to close the wound in Johnny’s neck once again with his tongue.

Morrissey disentangled them from each other and leaned against the sink heavily. Johnny’s legs looked wobbly from having been wrapped around Morrissey so tightly, and he slid down the wall and sat down on the floor. He was breathing deeply and his face and neck were flushed from the heat.

“That was nice,” Morrissey said, which was a huge understatement, but he felt at a loss for words. He licked his lips, which still tasted like blood.

“Uh-huh,” Johnny replied blissfully and grinned.

Morrissey felt sticky and dirty, but he didn’t regret anything that had just happened. He felt too good to start condemning himself into hell or something. But he did look at the bathtub longingly.

“You can take a bath at my place if you want,” Johnny said, noticing it.

Morrissey groaned in gratitude so ardently it made them both laugh.

“We’re not going to stick around at this party anymore, are we?” Morrissey asked.

“Fuck no,” Johnny laughed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry folks but this is as spicy as this fic can get, I want to move forward with this story and even now I was too embarrassed to make it more graphic... I hate the word ‘groins’ but ‘loins’ is way way worse I’m sorry if that scene was awful how do people have the strength to write smut
> 
> uhhh tell me if you thought this chapter was any good I’m gonna go hide somewhere
> 
> sorry for complaining so much btw I appreciate all of u 
> 
> also: writing this chapter reminded me of this tumblr post:
> 
> "vampires getting the urge to be intimate w/ their partners while feeding is so fucking funny to me… like imagine you’re just sitting there eating soup but getting REALLY into it? you just. want to fuck, b/c of the soup. want to fuck the soup"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> may I offer you some crappy marrissey in these trying times

As February kicked into gear the weather didn’t really get warmer, but they liked to hang around the cemetery anyway now and then. It was the only place outside where they dared to walk hand in hand and kiss without having to worry about people seeing them.

Johnny had taken his guitar with him so he could play Morrissey some of the stuff he’d written. They were both still interested in making songs together, but the idea had been slightly pushed aside lately because they’d been more preoccupied with each other.

And even now, after a while of sitting around on a bench playing, Johnny pushed the guitar aside and slid into Morrissey’s lap.

Morrissey raised his eyebrows.

“What? I got cold,” Johnny said with a grin before kissing him eagerly.

Morrissey didn’t object – it was indeed rather chilly and he didn’t want Johnny to catch a cold. Besides, he’d heard enough of the song to get inspired so they could just as well warm each other up now.

Johnny pushed his hands under Morrissey’s jumper and felt about his sides with his fingers which were almost worryingly cold. Morrissey couldn’t understand why Johnny refused to wear mittens, it’s not like they’d make him any less credible. He thought about bringing the matter up again but it would be futile anyway, so he just let Johnny warm his hands against him, as it was rather nice.

He felt Johnny part from their kiss after a small bite to his lip, and then Johnny’s mouth was on his neck.

At first Morrissey had found the idea of his own neck getting kissed very strange, because before Johnny the only person to have had their face in Morrissey’s neck was that weird vampire who had created him so long ago, and that hadn’t been pleasant.

But, as with other things, it was like Johnny had reconstructed his life into something with better experiences. Morrissey could suck blood out of people, but Johnny could suck out the bad things and turn them into something good.

He leaned back his head and hummed with pleasure as Johnny seemed to be determined to give him a hickey - he wouldn’t be able to do it since bruises never stayed on his body, but he was glad to let him try – when he spotted something dark moving behind them. He turned his head slightly until he saw it fully.

“David!” he gasped with surprised joy.

Johnny withdrew from him with a frown.

“Excuse me, _who_?” he asked indignantly.

“Him,” Morrissey said as a black cat jumped up on the bench next to them as if on cue. The cat let out a soft ‘meow’ and let Morrissey lift him in his arms.

"Oh," Johnny said and scrambled off his lap quickly, backing off on the bench.

“I thought he was dead, I haven’t seen him in so long,” Morrissey said and pressed a kiss on top of the cat’s head. The cat didn’t mind. He smiled joyfully at him. “He used to come here sometimes and allow me to pet him in my bouts of loneliness. I think he’s a stray but I’m not sure. I named him David and he seems to be okay with that.”

He lifted David and addressed him. “Now where have you been for almost a year, hmm?”

David didn’t answer. Morrissey put him down on his lap and looked at Johnny.

“Why are you looking at him like that?” he asked, noticing Johnny’s uncomfortable expression. “Don’t you like cats?”

“No. I don’t trust them. They’re weird,” Johnny said, eyeing David. David regarded him back indifferently.

“Right, I’m breaking up with you,” Morrissey joked, but he actually felt a bit shocked. Who didn’t like cats? “How come you hadn’t told me that before?”

“Hey, you never told me about David either,” Johnny said. Then he glanced at the cat in question. “I guess I can put up with him for you, though.”

Morrissey beamed. “Yes, after all I also put up with Andy.”

Johnny cracked up with a loud laugh. “Shut up, you like Andy.”

“Yes, I do,” Morrissey admitted with a shrug and a smile.

Luckily Andy had never found out what exactly happened at his party, and they’d seen him again after that. Morrissey was still a bit shy around him and left most of the talking to Johnny, but since Andy was very much into music as well it didn’t feel like talking to someone from a different planet, and it was easy to get used to him.

Suddenly David jumped off Morrissey’s lap and ran off into the distance. Morrissey was sad to see him go, but the knowledge that he wasn’t dead and might still return warmed his heart.

“Did I scare him off?” Johnny asked.

“No,” Morrissey said as he smelled the scent of rain in the air. It wasn’t just quite cold enough for snow this time. “It’s going to be pouring down in a second.”

“Fuck,” Johnny said, glancing at his guitar. He hadn’t brought it in a case.

“Do you want us to make a run for your place?” Morrissey asked.

“No,” Johnny said, when he saw a few drops already falling on his guitar. “Can we wait for it to stop in your mausoleum?”

Morrissey hesitated. Johnny had never been there before and was undoubtedly curious to see it, but it wasn’t exactly a cozy place to show your boyfriend. But they were very close to it, and he didn’t want Johnny or his guitar to get drenched in this chilly weather, so he shrugged and led the way.

He opened the heavy stone door and gestured for Johnny to go in, and then closed it behind him, enclosing them in darkness.

“I have candles here, hold on,” he said, and went around lighting them. It didn’t take him long; his mausoleum was the size of a small room.

There was an assortment of different lamps on the floor – oil lamps and lamps that worked on batteries, but they were out of use for the moment because he had neither oil nor spare batteries, and therefore remained as pointless clutter.

Johnny was looking around in awe, sweeping his gaze from the dark, high ceiling to the scraps of furniture Morrissey had managed to collect from landfills, abandoned places or people’s yards. Mostly the surfaces were littered with books and notebooks and pens, and there was hardly any space to move around in.

And in the middle of the floor was a raised dais with his coffin on it, to which Johnny inevitably turned his attention as it was rather hard not to notice. The vision of Johnny standing there, peering down into the coffin felt very wrong to Morrissey, and he felt deeply uncomfortable and almost afraid all of a sudden. He had the eerie feeling that he’d trapped Johnny here forever, that someone so beautiful and alive shouldn’t be shut up in a dead place like this.

“Not bad,” Johnny said cheerily, after stepping back towards Morrissey again.

“I hope you don’t have an aversion to spiders,” Morrissey said, his voice slightly thick with anxiousness. “There might be some around.”

“Find them less scary than cats, to be honest,” Johnny shrugged.

Morrissey smiled and hoped that it was still dark enough for Johnny not to notice how strained his smile was. He tried to shake off the odd feeling that was plagueing him.

“Wait, was this place empty when you got here?” Johnny asked, glancing around again and apparently remembering that mausoleums are supposed to be for dead people.

“Sort of?” Morrissey said, scratching his neck distractedly. “A rich spinster was buried here long before I ever got here, and since she didn’t have any family no one’s come to bury anyone else here.”

“Did you… do something with the, uh,” Johnny hesitated. “Corpse?”

“She was cremated,” Morrissey explained and pointed to the corner. There was an old dusty urn on the floor. “It was where my coffin is now, so I moved it there. Couldn’t exactly throw her out of her own ‘home’.”

“Whoa,” Johnny said. “So all this space for one urn? That’s ridiculous.”

Morrissey shrugged.

“Catholics,” he said.

Johnny laughed. “Okay, true.”

Morrissey watched Johnny sit down on the only chair in the mausoleum with his guitar in his lap. He didn’t seem to be bothered about sharing the space with the ashes of another person. It felt weird to see him so at ease, even though Morrissey had known from the start that Johnny was pretty cool about everything vampire-related. Still, Morrissey couldn’t help but think there was something very wrong with this picture indeed.

“Oh hey, cool acoustics here,” Johnny said, after strumming experimentally for a while. He started playing the melody he’d been playing on the bench earlier.

As Johnny played on and they listened to the now loudly falling rain Morrissey was able to push the anxious feeling away for now, but it stayed in the back of his mind, mostly dormant, until he came to confront it a couple of weeks later.

 

* * *

 

 

They were in the one and only bookshop in Manchester that Morrissey was able to get in to, browsing through some books and trying to see if there was anything interesting in the bargain shelves.

A record was playing there, and Morrissey knew it was a Beatles record without paying much attention to it because every time he had been there the shopkeeper was listening to them.

However, as the song ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’ came on, he paused in his browsing. Johnny was a couple of shelves away, quietly and absently humming along to the familiar tune.

 

_When I get older losing my hair_  
_Many years from now_  
_Will you still be sending me a valentine_  
_Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?_

_If I'd been out till quarter to three_  
_Would you lock the door?_  
_Will you still need me, will you still feed me_  
_When I'm sixty-four?_

_You'll be older too_  
_And if you say the word_  
_I could stay with you_

 

He’d never thought that Paul McCartney would make him question his life, but here he was, frozen in distress in the middle of a bookshop. The things he’d avoided thinking about ever since they’d begun dating came up to the surface again, only this time he finally put together how utterly mad their situation was. For heaven’s sake, he was an immortal being. He thought about the fact that when Johnny would be sixty-four, he’d himself still look like a sad 23-year-old.

Would he still need Johnny when he was sixty-four? Very probably. Thinking so far ahead felt odd, as if he was considering marriage or something serious like that, but he was still quite sure he’d always need Johnny. But what about Johnny? It was absurd to think that Johnny would waste his life on him. What if Johnny wanted to have a family? Wouldn’t he have to leave him to it at some point?

His thoughts returned to that vision of Johnny standing over his coffin. He shuddered. Johnny would die of old age, but he wouldn’t.

He’d seen people grow old around him while staying young himself, but it hadn’t truly affected him before, as he hadn’t been so involved with anyone as he was now with Johnny. It was hard to fathom now. It was like he’d pretended he and Johnny lived in some other world where time didn’t exist. But it did.

He couldn’t believe himself. What was he doing, invading a mortal’s life like this? Now he knew what had once bothered him about meeting Andy. It was because it was a normal thing to happen, to meet your boyfriend’s friends, to share his life. Except that he wasn’t sharing Johnny’s life – he was ruining it. And he’d gotten so close to him now, done things with him that were irreversible. And what was awful about it was that he didn’t really even regret it, that he’d probably do it all over again if he was returned to their first meeting. It was too late to simply walk away from him now and he didn’t want to, but what were they going to do?

_Yours sincerely, wasting away_  
_Give me your answer, fill in a form_  
_Mine for evermore_

_Evermore_. The word echoed in his head and squeezed his throat, and as the song came to a finish his eyes found Johnny’s.

He realized Johnny was looking at him expectantly. He’d probably said something to him but he hadn’t heard. He noticed he had been holding a book in his hand for two minutes without looking at it. It was Oliver Twist. He put it back in the shelf somewhat mechanically.

“Babe? You okay?” Johnny asked now.

“Uh, not really,” he said, deciding to be truthful about it because he was sure his face had betrayed his emotions anyway.

Johnny came closer within whispering distance. “Are you… thirsty? Should we leave?”

For a second Morrissey thought about using the excuse of needing to feed as a way to escape the situation, but he’d used that once and hated it. Besides, this was a problem that would get worse if he ignored it completely.

He gathered his courage and shook his head.

“I want to talk to you,” he said quietly. “About things.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, looking worried but patient. “Do you want to wait until we’re at my place?”

Morrissey nodded.

They left the shop without buying anything and made their way to Johnny’s in silence. Unfortunately almost all the Beatles songs Morrissey had heard were treacherous earworms, and to his dismay he found that cursed song rattling on in his head as they walked, like a cruel reminder of his worries.

Morrissey flopped down on Johnny’s bed as soon as they got in. Even though he felt anxious enough to want to pace around the room, he found it easier to talk about feelings and dreadful things when you were lying down on a bed for some reason, and as they’d shared some nice moments there it felt like a comfortable haven.

“What are we doing?” he asked when Johnny had closed the door and sat on the bed next to him. “I’m a vampire.”

Johnny looked at him for a while silently, and then slithered down so he was lying as well.

“Yeah?” Johnny said after a while, when Morrissey hadn’t elaborated further.

“It’s just that… It hit me that eventually we’re going to have to face the fact that you’re mortal and I’m not.”

“Hmm, I know that,” Johnny said and sought out Morrissey’s hand, twining their fingers together. “But only eventually, you know?”

Morrissey sighed in frustration. “But- you could be doing things with your life!”

“But I am,” Johnny said. Morrissey turned his head to his. Johnny was frowning. “Are you saying you’re in my way?”

Morrissey shrugged and looked away. Obviously he was.

“You’re not!” Johnny said firmly. “I’m not like ‘oh, I wish I could do this and this thing, but oh what a pity it is that I have this amazing boyfriend I’m nuts about, this sucks’.”

Morrissey smiled a little despite his plight.

“But,” he pressed on. “Don’t you want to have a career? Form a band and make music? Live your life?”

“I don’t see how you’re a problem with those things. We could make music together, you know. Form a band. It’s what I really want, actually,” Johnny said. “Of course we don’t _have_ to.”

“How could a vampire be in a band, Johnny? Be serious,” Morrissey said. He couldn’t resist being interested in the idea, though.

“I _am_ being serious,” Johnny said with a bit of a frustrated laugh. “We could have like a really underground band who don’t do TV appearances and lay low and just create stuff.”

“I don’t know,” Morrissey said. “It sounds fun, but-”

“We don’t have to decide any big future plans now,” Johnny interrupted his oncoming train of pessimism. “Basically what I mean is that I’m not looking for fame or have any grand ideas about my life and even if I did, I’d still want to be with you.”

“But eventually...” Morrissey began, a bit half-heartedly now. He wasn’t quite sure how to express his doom-laden thoughts, as what Johnny was saying to him did soothe him somewhat. “You’ll… age?”

“Yeah, eventually,” Johnny repeated again. He burrowed closer to Morrissey. “But I’m only twenty. I get what you’re digging at, I do, but we have time, yeah? How about we’ll just see how it goes for now?”

Morrissey stared at the ceiling, mulling it over. Some of the frantic fear he’d felt earlier was leaving him in great waves. Now that he knew Johnny wasn’t ignorant on the whole issue he felt a bit better, and he couldn’t think of a better idea anyway.  
  
“I think I can do that, but I have to warn you that this is something that will very probably continue to bother me,” Morrissey said after a moment.

“Of course. But you’ll talk to me about it, won’t you?” Johnny asked, propping his head up on Morrissey’s chest and looking up at him.

“Yes,” Morrissey sighed.

“And, who knows, maybe some day you could turn me into a vampire,” Johnny shrugged.

“ _What_?” Morrissey said, aghast. He rose up on his elbows so fast that Johnny bounced right off his chest.

“Calm down, I said some day, _some day_ ,” Johnny tried to placate him.

Morrissey was shaking his head vehemently. “You have to be joking.”

“I’m not, but it’s not something that I’ve decided that I want or anything, just a possibility that might come up in the future, you know? Like something to consider? That might not even ever happen?” Johnny explained quickly.

Morrissey fell back down on the bed again, heart beating fast. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t even known Johnny would think about it.

“Oh dear,” he said simply.

“Shit, I freaked you out, didn’t I?” Johnny asked and resumed cuddling him. He was petting his hair in a calming way and stumbling over his words. “Sorry. We don’t have to even think about it at all just yet. Or we can, if you want to. But I’m not, suggesting, err-, that I’d want it without a thought, you know? I know it’s a big deal. I’m just saying it so we know it could happen. Maybe. I don’t even know myself.”

Morrissey breathed in deeply through his nose. Everything’s still fine, he reminded himself. Johnny’s not going to spontaneously turn into a vampire just because he’s thought about it a bit, he’d need Morrissey to actually do it.

His mind conjured up an image of Johnny as a vampire for a split second, but he shook his head as if to banish it. He focused on the real Johnny and wrapped his arms around him. Still a mortal, still in the present. He relaxed again.

Really, he supposed he should have expected that Johnny would say something absolutely ridiculous like that at some point. And when he thought about it, it did make sense that Johnny would get curious about the whole thing.

Johnny was silent, just waiting for Morrissey to digest everything while still moving his fingers slowly around his scalp. It felt good.

“You know, you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met and this is coming from a vampire,” Morrissey said eventually, because it was true and because it practically summed up all the thoughts he had swimming in his head.

Johnny laughed softly.

“Right, well, you’re the weirdest person _I’ve_ ever met, and this is coming from the weirdest person you’ve ever met,” he mumbled against his chest.

Morrissey smiled, and when he didn’t reply Johnny lifted his head so he could look into Morrissey’s eyes.

“But really though, we could make that band idea work, couldn’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes sorry for being slow again but here we are! Aaand it shouldn't take me long to finish chapter 9 so look forward to that + the epilogue within maybeee... dare I say it... a week? mAYBE
> 
> (btw no disrespekt to macca I love sgt. pepper)
> 
> I know I say this all the time but THANK YOU if you're still into this mess of a fic and every time you comment I just straight up die and come back to life so I can look at the comments again


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKS instead of one. I shouldn’t give promises I can’t keep but hey here we go! The last one!

Morrissey found himself part of a band. If someone had told him that a year ago, he’d have, well… rolled over in his coffin, probably, and not done anything else.

But now he knew some part of his soul that he hadn’t been previously aware of was rejoicing, like he’d always secretly yearned to express himself and now he could be able to do it in a way that hadn’t been available to him in his mortal life.

After he and Johnny had written and played some new songs between just the two of them they did feel like it was too good to be ignored. They’d wanted to take it further, like make homemade casettes out of them or something.

And eventually they’d talked about how much better they would sound if they had bass and drums added into the mix. They hadn’t gone about the night recruiting members all across Manchester though, as they needed people Morrissey could be comfortable with, and well, they also wanted them to be good. Sometimes, when they’d been spending time with Andy, he and Johnny had started jamming around while Morrissey watched, and it had felt right. It wasn’t hard to get him to join them, as Andy was excited to just get to play something.

Once Mike - who they hadn’t bumped into since the party - had been around at Andy’s while they were talking about music and he’d voiced his interest, which had more than slightly terrified Morrissey because he was so sure Mike would realize they were never in the same school together and would remember what actually happened. But he seemed to be blissfully ignorant, and he fit well together with them, so here they were, a quartet fronted by a vampire of all things.

They ended up getting a place to rehearse in through Johnny’s connections, and most importantly got invited in when the guy who owned the place came to open the doors for them. It all felt a bit surreal to Morrissey, but he was trying to take Johnny’s advice and just see how it went.

But as spring peeked its head around the corner properly the days started to get longer, which meant rising much later for Morrissey and he began to feel uneasy about it. During winter he could pass for a slightly eccentric but otherwise relatively normal person, but now when they had to schedule band practice late into the evening he felt like an oddity. Johnny’s day rhythm was wonky anyway, but Mike and Andy’s presence made the difference feel greater.

And it woke in him the worry about Johnny and his life again, especially because of the comment Johnny had made about possibly becoming a vampire some day. He knew Johnny hadn’t been really all that serious about it, but it was hard to forget it sometimes. He felt like the band – and Johnny - would be better off without him because they could become something great without his vampiric nature being in the way, even when he tried to remind himself that Johnny didn’t think like that.

The conflicting feelings about the band exhausted Morrissey, and he wished he could stop thinking about every little thing all the time and just enjoy the good parts.

They were bickering about Morrissey’s worries one day after practice when Mike and Andy had left. They always managed to avoid full-on arguments but now and then, driven by his insecurities, Morrissey couldn’t help but become a little waspish with his remarks.

He was a bit thirsty that evening which was why he was complaining about feeding quite elaborately, how arduous it was, to remind Johnny in a not-so-subtle way how annoying and creepy it was to be a vampire. Just so he knew. And, if Morrissey was being honest, which he didn’t want to be because it felt embarrassing to admit it even to himself, he might have also been provoking Johnny because they hadn’t had time for a proper snog for a while and he felt worked up and needy.

“I told you, you can drink from me more often, you know I like it,” Johnny said while packing up his guitar with a bit of a vexed sigh.

“No I can’t, you’re too tiny and besides, you’re not getting the point at all,” Morrissey said, trying not to sulk.

Johnny snorted. “I think I am, though.”

Morrissey opened his mouth to reply with something impetuous which probably wouldn’t have done him any favours, when the door to the rehearsal room opened with a creak. It was Andy.

Morrissey closed his mouth quickly and tried to busy himself with something, but having nothing to do he just ended up inspecting the wall as if it was very interesting. Andy looked between the two of them.

“Sorry, forgot some of my stuff,” he explained, and then looked at them again.

They had both fallen silent, not able to discuss the matter when Andy was there.

“Were you talking about your vampire secrets?” Andy broke the silence casually.

Morrissey and Johnny whipped around simultaneously to look at him in shock.

Morrissey’s mouth felt too dry to say anything. He was sure all the colour had left his face.

“What? Are you high?” Johnny asked, looking at Andy with a mixture of worry and anger.

“No, I know Morrissey’s a vampire. Guessed it a while back,” Andy said.

Morrissey briefly considered snapping Andy’s neck out of sheer panic, but he’d never do that, so he sat shakily on the dirty concrete floor instead. This wasn’t how he’d thought the night would go. Or his life.

“H-how?” he asked rather weakly. “How do you always know everything?”

“Look, I’ve never seen you eat and we always meet you up after sunset, and sometimes you talk kind of funny and never smile with your mouth open _and_ you need to be invited in everywhere. Nobody’s _that_ shy,” Andy said still in that easygoing tone, like they were discussing something far more normal.

Morrissey held Andy’s gaze, assessing him. What was he going to do with this information?

“I don’t care, I’m not going to tell anybody,” Andy said, noticing Morrissey’s look. “I mean, it’s fucking weird and I don’t want to know the details but you’re a good singer and don’t seem evil or anything.”

Morrissey rubbed his forehead, trying to understand if maybe there was some sort of drug in the water pipes of Manchester because he couldn’t believe that both Johnny and Andy took his secret so calmly. What was up with them?

When neither Morrissey nor Johnny said anything, Andy shrugged.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little high but only a bit,” he joked.

Johnny laughed in disbelief.

“If anyone should have figured it out, it should be Mike,” Johnny said while Morrissey nodded stiffly.

“How come?” Andy asked.

“Morrissey fed on him once,” Johnny explained.

Andy looked at both of them with a sort of a frozen grin, seeing if they were serious, and then started wheezing with laughter so hard that he was almost bent double by the force of it.

His laughter was so sudden and contagious that Johnny started laughing too, and out of sheer disbelief and hysteria Morrissey burst into laughter as well. The whole thing was rather funny in a twisted way, after all, and the annoyance and pent-up frustration that had enveloped him that evening unwound themselves and just served to make him laugh louder.

Soon they’d all completely lost it and were howling with laughter on the floor until they were teary-eyed and weak with it, and it took them a while to quiet down.

“Right, good talk, but I’ve gotta go,” Andy said finally after he’d pulled himself together. He wiped at his eyes, still grinning, and got up.

He picked up the bag he’d left behind and cheerily waved them goodbye, leaving Morrissey and Johnny lying on the floor in a far mellower mood than before. The hard floor was rather disgusting and uncomfortable, but they were too boneless to move.

“Well, that turned out fine,” Johnny sighed happily.

“What if someone else finds out and it goes badly?” Morrissey asked and turned so that he was lying on his side and facing Johnny. He placed his hand between his cheek and the cold floor for a more comfortable position.  
  
“Okay but no one actually believes in vampires anymore. Well, apart from Andy and me, apparently,” Johnny reassured him. “I mean even if someone did find out, would anyone believe ‘em?”

A quick wave of sadness passed over Morrissey as he thought about his family turning him away all those years ago, and he wondered if they might have reacted differently if it all happened now, when superstition was dead. But, even if they hadn’t figured it out, he would have had to watch them die before him anyway.

“You wouldn’t want to become like me,” he said. “You have family.”

Johnny was silent for a while as they looked at each other. Judging by his empathic eyes, he’d probably guessed what Morrissey had thought about.

“I reckon I could make it work somehow. I could still be in their lives afterwards for a bit,” Johnny said finally, then winced and hesitated. “I’m sorry, I sound like a selfish dickhead.”

“You don’t,” Morrissey sighed. “I just don’t think you understand what it’s really like and what you’d lose. Feeding’s not the worst part by far. Becoming a reject is, and nothing can really prepare you for it.”

“I know,” Johnny said and shuffled closer so he could touch Morrissey’s face. “You probably think I’m an idiot for even considering it.”

“Well, yes. But also not at all. But essentially, yes,” Morrissey replied, making Johnny laugh through his nose so that Morrissey felt the air tickle his face.

“I promise you I’ll never jump into any wild decisions about it without talking about it with you for like, months and months. Years?” Johnny said and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” Morrissey said, both for the promise and the kiss, hoping to get more of the latter.

“But overall, I’d make a pretty good vampire, wouldn’t I? It wouldn’t need to be so grim, I could get us stuff.”

Morrissey had to agree. The way Johnny could talk people into things would make it easy for him to get people to invite them in everywhere, and he had a natural curiosity about him which would thrive with the heightened senses of a vampire, not to mention the immortality which would allow him to follow music forever. The nights would belong to him.

“Shut up,” was what Morrissey said instead and inched closer so they could kiss some more.

Johnny met his lips with enthusiasm and Morrissey trembled almost pathetically with bliss, after all this time still not used to how good it felt to be kissed by Johnny, and relieved to share this moment after all the madness of the evening.

“Shit, this floor is uncomfortable as fuck,” Johnny said when they’d parted for some air and his hip bone had dug in hard against the cold concrete. He tried to find a nice way to rest his body on the floor and failed. “Ow, fuck.”

“You have a really foul mouth sometimes, Johnny,” Morrissey scolded him, but in a tone that was too fond for it to be effective.

“Oh yeah?” Johnny said, raising his eyebrows and grinning suggestively. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Morrissey thought for a while.

“...Nothing,” he said with a shrug.

Johnny laughed and swatted at his head lightly. “You were supposed to say something sexy.”

“You should know by now that that’s impossible.”

 

* * *

 

 

Morrissey had barely opened his eyes one evening when he heard a distant sound that sounded like a hand slapping on a stone surface, and some muffled yelling. He listened closely for a while.

“Wake up, wake up!” It was Johnny, outside the mausoleum. “C’mon, I have some really cool news, get up!”

Morrissey groaned. They’d been practising a lot with the band lately, and while it was exciting to see how good they were getting, sometimes it was exhausting to be around a group of energetic people so much. Springtime made him feel a bit more tired than usual anyway as it was weird to adjust to the growing amount of sun again. Morrissey considered ignoring Johnny for maybe at least five minutes so he could sleep a little more.

“ _WAKE UP_ ,” Johnny yelled louder from the outside, which made Morrissey get up grudgingly. If he kept shouting like that he was going to wake the dead. The actual dead, not just him.

He pushed the heavy door open and glared at Johnny, then glanced outside, looking at the colour of the sky.

“You need a wooden door, it’s really hard to knock on stone,” Johnny quipped.

“Why yes, let me just renovate this old structure that doesn’t even belong to me,” he said sarcastically. Then he looked pointedly at the sky again, which was barely dark. “The sun has set, what, half an hour ago?”

“There’s a possibility we could record a single! I know someone who has equipment and stuff!” Johnny blurted out, ignoring Morrissey’s comments.

Morrissey looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna talk about it now with Andy and Mike at the rehearsal place, get dressed!”

Morrissey barely registered which clothes he threw on in his haste. Johnny was chattering on breathlessly about how he had talked with some guy at work and the subject of the band had come up and it had lead to this, and he kept adding bits to the story which he’d forgotten and making a mess of his sentences in his excitement. As soon as Morrissey was ready and had put his shoes on, Johnny took his hand and started walking quickly with him, almost dragging him along.

Morrissey tried to keep up with Johnny’s steps and his story while processing all this new information, but as it was rather hard to do all three he just let himself be lead stumblingly and smiled at Johnny’s wild happiness. He felt excited as well, even though he didn’t really understand the process of making singles or the technology behind it.

They breezed past the old part of the cemetery where Morrissey’s gravestone was situated. He’d almost always glanced at the spot whenever he passed by the section, as if to see if the stone was still there, but now it didn’t even cross his mind as he followed Johnny.

The cemetery looked beautiful again after the barren winter; the trees and bushes were in leaf and people had left more flowers on their loved ones’ graves now that the flowers weren’t going to wither instantly like they had in the cold. Walking fast made the petals all around turn into blurry storms of colour, and their fragrance mixed in the air which already smelled a tiny bit like summer.

They passed a bench they’d sat on so many times, a tree Johnny had been leaning against once while smoking, rocks and monuments they’d seen, paths they’d walked on. While they walked through the cemetery an overwhelming feeling rose in Morrissey, a surety that his life would never again be quite the same, that he was finally about to abandon some dark and lonely bit of his past. The cemetery would still be there and look just the same when he’d return there before dawn, but he knew it would feel a bit different.

Suddenly, when they reached the main gates, he felt so overcome that he needed to stop. He didn’t understand his own feelings – they’d walked through these gates so many times together that it should be just like any other day but it felt momentous now.

He wanted to go with Johnny and pursue their music but in that moment he felt unsure if he could really do it all. His steps faltered and Johnny - who had been walking a few paces ahead of him for a while now in his hurry – turned around to see why he wasn’t following.

A row of streetlights was visible now that they were about to exit the cemetery, and the nearest lamp’s soft orange light illuminated Johnny’s puzzled face. Morrissey could see that lovely shade of brown in his eyes and he felt something odd going on in his chest, as if his heart was expanding and suffocating him, except somehow it was a pleasant feeling. He realized with no complications that he was in love. He supposed he must have been for quite a while now, but the truth had decided to drive home to him on this particular spring night, under that very lamp.

He felt like he could faint from happiness, but a question weighed on his mind and he had to know.

“Are you _sure_ you want to do this with me,” he asked Johnny, indicating the band’s single but meaning everything.

“Yeah,” Johnny said without hesitation.

“It’s just that… summer’s coming and I’ll have to sleep longer and I’m just wondering if I- If I shouldn’t go somewhere far away so you could get on with… things,” Morrissey said without any actual wish to leave Johnny. He thought it was fair to offer that option for Johnny’s sake though.

But Johnny shook his head firmly.

“That’s the last thing I want. How about you let yourself have something for once?” he suggested in a kind voice. “The summer’ll pass anyway.”

Morrissey looked down at his shoes. His mind was telling him he was a selfish fiend who had taken enough, but his heart was aching for the happiness Johnny and the world was offering him. Maybe he _did_ deserve some good things.

Johnny took a step towards him and outstretched his hand.

“What d’you think? Want to come with me and see what happens?” Johnny continued with a small smile.

Morrissey looked at Johnny’s hand. It was waiting there for him.

He felt his heat flutter again. It seemed it had decided for him.

“Yes, I suppose I will,” he said at last, and took the hand.

 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do y’all ever do that thing where after writing a good sentence you snap and point finger guns at you own computer screen? Oh yeah me neither
> 
> THERE IT IS! see the next chapter for a very short lil vague epilogue!


	10. Epilogue

_“Good evening and welcome back everyone, you’re listening to Radio LHUX. As you may know we have our ‘Indie Evenings’ here every Friday, and last week me and my co-host were talking on air about this underground band we remember liking that had a following but remained as a mystery. And what do you know! A young listener contacted us and said he’s unearthed a rare tape that he’s willing to share. Here he is in the studio. Nice to meet you, Johnny.”_

_“You too. Thanks for inviting me in, that was nice.”_

_“Sure, no problem. Now where did you say you found this tape?”_

_“Oh, err, a thrift store… a few years ago. Forgot I had it and rediscovered it now.”_

_“Wow, that’s so cool. Do you know anything about the band? There was a rumor that two of the members disappeared in the late 80s.”_

_“Ha, yeah. I’m aware of that rumor too. But I can’t really tell you anything, sorry. Maybe they’re out there somewhere. But you should play this tape, it’s pretty good.”_

_“I absolutely will! Does the song have a name?”_

_“Oh, ‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out’, apparently.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (why was coming up with a radio station name the hardest part of writing this... can you tell I gave up and tried to subtly call it huxley)
> 
> OKAY THAT WAS IT YOU GUYS. oh my god. sorry if the ending was super cheesy. I can't believe I finished this. When I started writing this fic in like... April...? I had no idea how this was going to end like they weren't supposed to form the smiths at first but then I just found it so hard to imagine Johnny not forming a band like the idea was so sad that I had to make it happen at least somehow
> 
> so like to explain the epilogue I had the idea that they made music with mike & andy and then decided to part ways with them so they can remain in Anonymity and at some point in the late 80s Johnny became a vampire and now they're secretly making more music and subtly self promoting it  
> also in one of my earliest ideas I thought johnny would get stabbed by some random guy and he'd bleed so badly that morrissey would have to turn him but that idea was too dramatic and also depressing cause then it wouldn't have been johnny's own choice
> 
> ok I'll shut up now  
> TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS  
> I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT


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